


we can take the darkness

by leighbot



Series: don't throw it all away (our love) [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Custody Battle, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Single Parent Zayn, Zayn in Lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 72,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: “I’ve met the guy and he’s always making eyes at you when you’re not looking.”“No, he isn’t,” Zayn dismisses, finishing off his second glass of water. “I would have noticed if Harry ‘made eyes’ at me,” he says, using the air quotes. “We’ve been best mates for over three years.”“That’s why I said: when you’re not looking,” Griff repeats. “It’s like you’ve never seen a Sandra Bullock movie.”Zayn rolls his eyes and stands up. “Harry Styles and I are best friends,” he says, loudly and clearly. “Nothing more.”Or, the one where single parent Zayn is being sued for custody of his two sons and he stumbles into a fake relationship with his best friend that he can't get out of without putting his case in jeopardy.





	1. i won't let my heart control my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpledaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpledaisy/gifts).



> [Editing to add: I originally started writing this story for the GOK exchange, got halfway through, and burned out a bit. It took a LOT for me to get back into it and this only happened because I have wonderful, wonderful friends who've encouraged me to push myself and who helped me every step of the way. This is as much for them as it is for anyone, though it was started and inspired by purpledaisy's prompt (and hopefully it still fits today!).]
> 
> I've been working on this story for quite some time and finally decided it works best as a chaptered fic. No promises on an update schedule but my goal is to have one chapter a week, for a total of five weeks- maybe six if my final idea gets altered.
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH to everyone who has been a cheerleader for this fic, especially Lex for reading it during her five seconds of downtime and Tina for helping soothe my fears. I'm so excited to finally start putting this out into the world!
> 
> Titles inspired by Andy Gibb/the Bee Gees from the band's _One Night Only_ tour album.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introduces Zayn, his boys and ~~the love of his life~~ his best friend, Harry. Lots of backstory in this chapter, though it has been parsed down from the original draft, I promise.

The air is colder than it has any right to be in early November. Zayn’s cheeks feel frost bitten as soon as he hits street level from the subway station below. The temperature on Zayn’s phone indicates it is well below freezing and the grey clouds in the sky above him look heavy with the threat of snow. With a sigh, he shoves his phone back into his pocket and tugs his mitten back onto his now-stiff hand. Keeping the George Washington Bridge to his left, he sets off quickly down the street.

Around him, the other residents of Hudson Heights don’t seem to be as concerned with the polar temperatures. Most of the people he passes are wearing lighter jackets than the blue puffy one that he has on. It makes him look like someone dunked the Michelin Man in a vat of navy paint but he doesn’t mind when it keeps his arms and torso cozy warm. It doesn’t matter much, anyway, as his co-op isn’t too far from the 181st Street station and he’s soon using his keys to enter the building and escape the frigid air.

The cold has stolen some of his breath but Zayn doesn’t pause, too eager to get to his flat. He rushes up the stairs, knowing the elevator is never the fastest route, and vows to quit smoking this time for good when he hears the ragged way he’s breathing when he gets to his door on the fourth floor. He sounds a bit like Darth Vader being strangled but he turns his second key anyway, holding his breath in a last-ditch effort to slow his pulse.

“I’m home!” he calls out, kicking the door closed before either of the cats can slip out. Only Sawyer is around, though, weaving between Zayn’s feet and leaving orange hair behind on the hems of his skinnies before he darts away, deeper into the apartment. “Anyone want to say hello?”

“Baba’s home, guys!” he hears someone say in a loud stage-whisper. Zayn can’t fight the huge grin that he breaks out into, would never even think to try. Seconds after the whisper, the sound of heavy feet hitting bare tile can be heard. Zayn slings his coat onto the hook by the door, stepping into the hallway just as two little boys come barreling around the corner from the kitchen.

“Baba’s home!” almost four year old Trev repeats, arms already up for Zayn to lift him into a hug. Zayn obliges, crouching into a squat and pulling his older son into his arms. Trevor’s tall for his age- where the height comes from, Zayn has no idea- and his dark blonde corkscrew curls tickle at Zayn’s jaw before he ducks down for a kiss. Though he takes after his mother mostly, the main resemblance between him and Zayn is found in their eyes: the shape and color are identical, as are the lenses that frame their faces. Trev pulls out of the hug only so long as to push his glasses more firmly on his face, both palms pressing to the lenses.

Nineteen month old Tariq isn’t far behind his big brother, his balance still a bit shaky as he runs full speed into them, sending Zayn sprawling out on his bum. “Ow, baba,” Tariq says in sympathy, though he doesn’t pause as he climbs over Trevor to give Zayn his kisses hello. “Hi,” he chirps, showing off his toothy grin.

His younger boy, on the other hand, looks like an almost carbon copy of Zayn. His skin holds the same olive tone and his hair is the same dark brown, soft curls. Tariq has his father’s smaller frame, though it’s hard to say if that will change. His pudgy belly hangs over his nappy still, the air inside the apartment warm enough that his uncle has obviously let him be nearly naked like he typically prefers.

“Hi, boys,” Zayn responds, hugging them both. “Did you guys have fun with Uncle Harry?”

Trev’s smile falls a little while Tar’s grows. “We finger painted,” Trev says.

Zayn twists his face in a sympathetic grimace. While Tariq loves playing with anything that involves getting his hands dirty, Trevor has always preferred less messy activities. Zayn can only imagine how many times he made Harry stop so he could wash his hands. “Let’s see what you guys made,” he says, getting to his feet before taking one of their hands in each of his own.

When they enter the kitchen, Zayn pushing his arms forward to guide his sons through the doorway first, he doesn’t even blink at the semi-organized tidiness of the counter and shelves. He’s used to Harry cleaning up a bit when it’s his turn to babysit. It’s preferable to the way Louis always has the place trashed when Zayn comes home, though he never hesitates to stay and help clean. It’s even preferable to the way Niall always tidies to the point where it doesn’t even look like Zayn or the two boys even live there. The three Maliks seem to be in an unspoken competition to be messier than the other two at all times. After Niall’s Friday mornings, the flat looks like it could belong to the Queen.

On the other hand, Harry always seems to strike the perfect balance. He doesn’t ever attempt to hide any of the mismatched knickknacks on the shelves, just wipes things down a bit more than Zayn has time to and always tries to keep the mess the boys create to a contained level.

Harry’s sitting at the dining room table when they enter, twisting the lids back on paint tubes and gathering the messy sponges and scrunched up napkins.

“Hey, babe,” Zayn says, grinning when he sees his best friend. “How were the boys?”

“Oh, terrible as usual,” Harry jokes, eyes growing comically wide as he dramatically looks down. “I didn’t see the little munchkins there,” he says. “Do you think they heard me?”

“Uncle Harry, we heard you,” Trev says, giggling when Harry drops what he’s holding to swoop him up and drop him on his hip, tickling his tummy with one hand.

Tariq is tugging at Zayn’s hand, pulling him unsteadily to the table. “Baba, see,” he says, reaching up to the spot on the table right in front of his usual seat. “I drawed.”

“You really did,” Zayn agrees, picking up the picture. He sees six distinct blobs on the page. Two are clearly the cats, Sawyer a splotch of orange and Jasper a circle of what might be an attempt at creating gray. The other four, though, he isn’t sure. “Wanna tell me about it?” he tries, determined to bluff his way through this.

“Me, Sawver, Japper, Tev, baba n’ unc’ Arry,” he says, pointing at the blobs and naming them.

“I’m in it?” Harry asks, dimples deep as his smile shifts into something softer.

Tar nods, pointing them all out again and telling Harry the names as Harry shifts closer, Trev still on his hip.

“Thanks, buddy,” Harry says, reaching his free hand up to mess with Tariq’s brown curls. “You did really well. Trev, do you want to show your baba what you drew?”

“I didn’t have time to finish,” Trevor says, pouting a bit again.

Zayn presses his lips together to resist smiling. He’s always pleased when he sees himself in his boys, though he would have been okay with Trevor not inheriting some of his perfectionist tendencies.

He takes the picture when Harry passes it over, this time recognizing instantly what it’s meant to be of. His older son has been fascinated with the George Washington Bridge ever since Zayn moved into this co-op when Trev was about the age Tar is now. His bedtime story choice is always _The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Gray Bridge_ and it’s no surprise that his latest drawing is of the same subject. It’s well done, like most of Trev’s art is. The red is nearly a perfect shade match, the shape distinctive and there are even a couple swoops of black near the corner of the paper that might be birds. It’s a three year old’s finger painting, for sure, but it’s good enough for the Smithsonian in Zayn’s perfectly unbiased opinion.

“This is perfect, Trevor,” Zayn says.

Trevor grins and buries his face in Harry’s shoulder, arms tight around Harry’s neck. Zayn grabs both paintings and crosses the small kitchen to the fridge, using two spare magnets to stick them up. “Wanna show me yours, Haz?” he asks, smirking when he looks over his shoulder.

“Only if you show me yours first,” Harry teases right back, setting Trev down and letting him run off, probably to look for one of the cats. “You got a bunch of mail, though. The postman dropped it at the door, said one of the envelopes was too big to fit in the slot.”

Zayn looks over at the pile on the counter Harry indicates with a nod, deciding to go through it later. It’s never anything more thrilling than bills, ones that Zayn is finally able to pay in full and even early every single month instead of scrapping by like he had been doing since deciding to move to the city.

Tar sticks close as Zayn helps Harry finish cleaning up, going between the two of them. He’s a handsy baby, always has been, and he keeps a hold of the hem of Zayn’s jumper as they shuffle around together. When he’s by Harry, he’s clinging to the pockets of his skinnies or pinching the fold of fabric when it gathers near his knees.

“Thanks again, Harry,” Zayn says as they near the finish line. “For everything, always.”

“It’s honestly no trouble at all, you know that,” Harry says, shrugging off the thanks. “The boys are so easy to watch.”

Zayn pulls a disbelieving face to Tar, breaking into a smirk when his baby giggles. He’s definitely lucked out with two mostly even-tempered children, but it’s hard, sometimes, having two kids so close in age. Though they always love seeing their “uncles” when they babysit, Zayn knows his two little angels have probably thrown their fair share of tantrums for Harry, though he’s never complained.

“You’re staying for dinner?” Zayn asks, though he’s already grabbing four plates down.

“Can’t tonight,” Harry says, spraying the table before wiping it down. His smile’s gone, Zayn can tell just from the sound of his words.

“Oh?” Zayn says, refusing to examine why he’s suddenly pouting. He slips one plate back on the shelf quietly.

“I, erm, I’ve got a date,” Harry says.

His voice sounds off but Zayn doesn’t know if what he’s hearing is accurate or if he’s just listening through the hazy cloud of jealousy that settles over him at Harry’s words. It’s been ages since he’s gotten off with anyone, all of his time going either to his boys or to his job. He’s thrown himself into work wholeheartedly, rising in the company quickly, and he’s stable enough now that he can put away a little money for his sons’ future schooling after their current bills are paid. He tells himself that he isn’t jealous, not at all, but if he _is_ , then he’s jealous of the idea of dating. _If_ he’s jealous, it’s of Harry and not the nameless, faceless person who gets to take him out tonight.

“Oh?” Zayn repeats, his voice a bit softer this time. He clears his throat quietly.

“A guy from class set me up with his mate. I felt too awkward to say no.”

“Have fun. Us lads will miss you.”

When he turns around, Harry’s smiling again. It’s the soft, subtle one that somehow makes his dimple stand out in stark relief. It’s his special smile just for Zayn, Zayn’s always thought. He only sees Harry direct it at him or his boys, never at anyone else. It eases some of Zayn’s discomfort at the thought of Harry’s date, knowing that this part of his best mate is just his and won’t be shared with anyone else any time soon.

“I’ll miss you guys, too. Save me some leftovers?”

“We make no promises,” Zayn says, the corners of his lips rising in a smirk. “Tar eats like a horse.”

“Tar eats horses?” Harry exclaims, green eyes wide again.

“No, I don’t!” Tariq laughs, toddling away when Harry makes to grab him. Zayn helps Harry give chase, the two of them jostling each other as they follow Tariq down the hallway. He shrieks when he looks over and sees them following, his bare feet pounding the tile as he rounds the farthest corner for the living room.

They hear a hissing sound and then Jasper runs out a second later. He’s never been fond of Tariq or Harry, and he keeps close to the wall as he passes them for the sanctuary of the now-empty kitchen. “Damn cat,” Harry says under his breath before they slip through the doorframe.

Tar stands between the sofa and the coffee table, eyeing them warily. Trev and Sawyer are playing with a line of string in the corner. Harry and Zayn share a look before splitting up, rounding the sofa from either side.

“No!” Tar shouts, laughing as he tries to scramble up onto the furniture. Harry’s too quick, diving forward suddenly and picking him up.

“I got him!” he yells. “I got the horse thief!”

“I thought he was a horse eater?” Zayn giggles, slumping down onto the sofa next to them, Tar wiggling half-heartedly in Harry’s hold until finally giving up and going limp, giggles shaking his small frame.

“Same thing,” Harry dismisses.

Zayn hums but doesn’t protest, sitting in silence for a moment before the clock above the stove chimes seven o’clock.

“I should go,” Harry says, though he doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. “You’ve got your date,” he says, keeping his gaze forward. He doesn’t need Harry to read anything in his eyes.

After another moment, Harry finally shifts. Tar goes to Zayn’s side willingly, tucking himself half between Zayn’s shoulder and the back of the sofa. Harry stands, back cracking as he stretches. He walks across the room to Trev, who is still playing with Sawyer and trying to entice a nervous Jasper closer, though he flees the room again when Harry starts moving.

Harry crouches down next to him, taking a knee after a few seconds. Zayn knows it’s because his back’s been bothering him again lately. Even if he hadn’t heard the worrying sound his back had just made, he would have still known. He sees it in the way Harry carries himself, posture stiff and arms hanging heavily. He had seen it when Harry had lifted Trev to his hip, the hint of a frown tugging the corners of his mouth down. He watches now as Harry hugs and kisses Trev goodbye, tucking an errant blonde strand behind his ear before he stands again and shuffles back over to them. Tar is curled around Zayn in a knot, one baby leg behind the small of Zayn’s back with the other draped over his arm and both of his chubby arms twisted around Zayn’s neck, hands barely able to meet in a circle.

“Thanks for painting with me today, Tar,” Harry says, leaning down.

“Bye bye, Unc’Arry,” Tar says around a yawn. He tilts his cheek up for a kiss, pressing one to Harry’s jaw a second later.

Harry lifts his hand, brushing through Tar’s curls as well as he makes eye contact with Zayn. “See you tomorrow,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Zayn says around an inhale, almost holding his breath as he holds Harry’s gaze. Harry leans in a little closer, just enough to press his dry, chapped lips to the cut of Zayn’s cheekbone.

“Have a good night,” he says before straightening and walking out of the room.

Zayn tells himself it didn’t mean anything, that he and the lads all kiss each other all the time and in more intimate ways then quickly and on the cheek. Even knowing this, he still finds himself aware of the spot where Harry’s lips had been for the rest of the night. He catches himself touching the tips of his fingers to his cheek as he makes dinner, as he eats with the boys and even while he reads them their bedtime story before lights out.

He thinks about the kiss when he tosses in a load of laundry.

He thinks about the kiss when he makes the boys’ lunches for daycare tomorrow.

He thinks about the kiss when he pulls on his own pajamas for bed.

He thinks about the kiss when he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

 

 

The next morning, the kiss is nearly forgotten. Zayn had let himself bask in it the night before but he puts his mental foot down when he wakes up. Harry is one of his best mates- his _very_ best mate if he ever had to choose- and there is no way Zayn is going to risk that on some stupid matter like a crush.

He sorts through the mail while the boys eat their breakfasts. His coffee mug is next to his elbow, steam still visibly rising as he makes a pile for junk, a pile for bills and a pile for everything else.

One envelope in particular stands out. It must be the reason the postman had to bring it up to them. It’s manila material, as wide as a standard envelope but much longer. Zayn frowns, sipping his coffee before he undoes the clasp and slips out the paperwork that is inside.

He doesn’t cough on his just-swallowed sip but it’s a close call, his eyes growing wide as he scans the documents. A lot of it is legal mumbo jumbo but Zayn understands enough of it that he’s instantly upset.

“Boys, can you go get dressed?” he says, not looking up from what’s in his hands.

“Brekki, baba,” Tar says, mouth sounding full.

“It’ll keep for a minute. Baba needs to make a quick call.”

He doesn’t hear them moving so he looks up, eyebrow raised. “Trev, please take your brother and go get dressed for day care. Baba will keep your breakfast for you.”

Trev nods, looking over at Zayn with a quizzical look, but he scoots his chair out carefully before crossing over and helping Tar down. They walk out of the room hand-in-hand, stride in unison as their feet thud in sync.

Zayn grabs his mobile, typing out one of the only numbers he knows by heart and bringing it to his ear.

“Hey, Zayn,” Harry says when he picks up, his voice scratchy like he was still sleeping.

“Haz, hey. I- I’ve got something I’m going to leave on the counter for you to look at while you’re here, if you’ve got time.”

“You sound upset; are you and the boys okay?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” Zayn reassures him. “The letter that got dropped off yesterday, it’s from one of Cassie’s lawyers. I don’t understand a lot of it but it sounds like she’s trying to sue for custody of the boys.”

“Oh, shit,” Harry says, voice clearer now.

“I need you to read it over and tell me it’s not what I think it is,” Zayn pleads.

“Of course I will,” Harry says. “Just leave it out for me and I’ll look it over. I’ll give it to my TA to look at if I can’t make sense of it.”

Zayn’s quiet for a long moment, sucking in a ragged breath and desperate for a smoke.

“It’s going to be okay, Zee.”

“I’m not letting her take them from me.”

“I know. We’re going to figure this out, okay?”

“It doesn’t make sense!” Zayn says, getting frustrated. “She doesn’t see them, doesn’t even call on their birthdays or holidays or anything.”

“Do you have a formal custody agreement on file with the courts?” Harry asks, tone serious.

“I think so,” Zayn says, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting at the dead skin there as he tries to remember. “Yes, I’m sure we did. We had an agreement for split custody when Trevor was born but I had full custody of him by the time we had Tariq. She signed away her rights for both boys.”

“Okay, just making sure,” Harry says. “Listen, babe, I’ve got to get going to class in a minute. Do you need me to skip? I can come look at that paperwork now. Just say the word.”

Zayn closes his eyes, letting his head hang as he exhales. “No,” he says, finally. “No, Harry. Thank you. I’m going to take the boys to day care and then just head into work. I can’t do anything about this right now.”

“Okay. If you change your mind-“

“I know, babe. Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Love you, Zayn.”

“Love you, too.”

He sets his mobile down on the counter and grabs his mug, gulping the coffee down quickly. It’s the next best thing to being able to shoot the caffeine directly into his veins.

By the time he has rinsed his mug and stacked the rest of the mail in its corner by the bread bin, Trev and Tar come back out.

“Tar didn’t have a shirt so I gave him mine,” Trev says, his tone one heavy with disappointment.

Hmm… Zayn’s sure he had left a shirt laid out for Tar. He glances over to see Tariq flap his arms in his brother’s oversized jumper. There’s a duck stitched on the front and Tar starts quacking when he sees Zayn watching. It brings a smile to Zayn’s face, his sons unknowingly offering a solid source of comfort.

“Thank you, jaan,” Zayn says, crossing over to the table. He helps Tar get situated again in his booster seat, dragging him close enough to the table that he can reach the rest of his breakfast. Trev is already finishing his, eyeing the fruit with distaste and eating around the strawberries specifically. “You’re not going to eat those, are you?” Zayn asks.

Trevor shakes his head, his blonde curls bouncing. Zayn twirls one around his finger before smoothing his hand around the curve of Trev’s skull.

“Try one for baba, please?” he asks, keeping his voice gentle.

“I don’t like them.”

“Have you tried one before?”

Trev shrugs, a full pout on his small face. “I don’t know.”

“I’d like if you try one but it’s okay if you don’t,” Zayn says, knowing when he’s come upon a battle that isn’t worth fighting. He leaves them alone in the kitchen for a minute, ducking into Tariq’s room and grabbing a more suitable shirt. While he loves seeing his baby quack in his big brother’s ducky shirt, he can’t let him out of the house in something that fits so poorly.

He catches Trev spooning a few strawberry pieces onto his brother’s plate, a guilty expression striking across his face when he sees Zayn. “He likes them,” Trev protests.

“I asked you to try them, though,” Zayn says. “I’m not upset but I wish you would have listened to me.”

“Sorry,” Trevor says.

Tar is oblivious to the shift in the mood, pinching the strawberries between his chubby fingers and opening his mouth wide, pressing one piece in at a time and gurgling.

“Told you he likes them,” Trev says under his breath, which Zayn ignores.

“Finish up what you’re eating and we’ll head across the street to see Miss Julie.”

Trev hesitates for a second, looking between Zayn and his plate. With the care of a SWAT police officer handling a bomb, he carefully picks up a quartered slice of strawberry and puts it in his mouth. Zayn watches him chew and swallow, a grimace on his face the entire time.

When it looks like he might force himself to eat another one, Zayn swoops in and pushes his plate forward. “You don’t have to, jaan,” he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the back of his head. “Thank you for trying them.”

“Sorry, baba,” he says, looking up and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, pursing his lips. Zayn gives him another kiss and ruffles through his hair again. “Am I done?”

“You’re done,” Zayn confirms, letting him scoot his chair back and jump down.

Tariq sees his brother leaving and lifts his arms. “Up, baba,” he demands.

“Baba has to clear the dishes,” Zayn says in apology. “Do you think you can change your shirt while Trev helps you? Go put on this shirt?” he simplifies, placing it on the chair.

“I wanted to find Jasper,” Trev says but he comes closer to them, gripping the back of his chair as he watches Zayn set down the folded jumper. He helps Tar pull the ducky shirt off as Zayn grabs their plates and takes them to wash off in the sink. When he’s done and has stacked them in the drying rack, he turns back around.

The boys have made a good effort, but Tar’s jumper is somehow inside out _and_ backwards at the same time. He’s biting the tag as he laughs, his dark eyes in a crease from the force of his smile.

“How’d this happen?” Zayn asks, laughing himself as he helps set Tar to rights. “Can’t let Miss Julie see you like that, she’ll be mad at baba.”

“Unc’ ‘Arry?” Tar asks.

“Uncle Harry is going to pick you boys up from Miss Julie’s house,” Zayn confirms. “And then you get to see your Uncle Niall tomorrow. Let’s go get our coats on now, though. It’s cold outside.”

Zayn herds them towards the front door, losing Trev for a fraction of a moment when he catches sight of Jasper’s tail and goes chasing after him. “Trev, c’mon,” Zayn coaxes. There’s no answer. He sighs, kneeling to help Tar into his boots, mittens and then his puffy parka, just like Zayn’s blue jacket except his is olive green and baby-sized. He pulls Tar’s hood over his head, tucking his brown hair back.

“There, all snug up,” Zayn says, echoing the smile his baby gives him. “Trevor Amir,” Zayn calls as he stands. “You have five seconds.”

With an apology and red cheeks, Trev comes running out of the living room, skidding to a stop in his socks by the front mat. “But I-,” he starts before taking a breath. “But I had to say goodbye to the cats,” he protests. “They miss me when I’m gone.”

“You’re only gone a couple of hours every day,” Zayn says, squatting down and fitting his gloves on his hands. He helps Trev slip into his peacoat, a birthday gift from his Uncle Harry, and tucks a scarf around his neck. “This coat isn’t very warm,” he says, biting his lip and looking his son over. “I don’t know what Harry was thinking.”

“Mine is just like his,” Trev says, chest puffed out proudly.

“Yeah, I know,” Zayn assures him with a grin. “I’ve heard.” He pulls a knit beanie over Trev’s hair, making sure his ears are covered and fixing his glasses after shifting them. It’s hard for Zayn to begrudge the bond Harry and Trev share; Harry has been a part of Trev’s life since he first came home from the hospital, after all. Zayn double-checks that they’re both bundled up before slipping on his own puffy coat and shoving his feet into his boots. He shepherds them through the door, using his foot to keep Sawyer from escaping, and locks up behind him. “Alright, let’s go next door and see Miss Julie.”

 

 

“I don’t understand why you don’t want Harry to go on this date.”

Zayn glares over his cubicle wall to his right where Griff stands in the hallway, armpits over the wall and hands waving wildly in the air. Griff holds a straight face for all of four seconds before he’s breaking out in a grin and letting his hands fall. His arms are long enough they reach halfway down the wall of Zayn’s cube.

“C’mon, Zayn. Get it in, or whatever you Brits are always saying.”

“What?”

“Just fuck him, man. Or, have him fuck you: whatever your preference.”

Zayn looks around in a panic. “Can you keep your voice down?” he hisses.

“No one’s listening,” Griff dismisses. “If they were, they’d agree with me.”

“That’s true,” Zayn hears.

He turns to face forward again, groaning when he sees Ned standing up at his own desk, only the top inch of his forehead and his quiff visible. Nonetheless, Zayn can tell just how big his shit-eating grin is.

“Who asked you guys, anyway?” he grumbles.

“Don’t be like that,” Ned says, his quiff traveling as he rounds the wall separating their workspaces. He perches his bony arse on the edge of Zayn’s desk, nearly knocking a stack of papers off it. “I used to think you and Harry were together when you first started.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, bro. You guys lived together, you talked about how good he was with Trevor. Sounded like your roundabout way of coming out, to me.”

“Me, too.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“Yeah,” Griff laughs, the sound too loud for an office as usual. “We caught on when you got back together with Cass and made another Malik.”

“Though, I have to admit: if I was into dudes, I’d be down to fuck Harry,” Ned admits, as if it was a question Zayn would ever have asked him.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I hate you both,” he says. “And you’re not Harry’s type.”

“I’d hit it.”

Zayn turns to face Griff again, feeling like he’s caught in the middle of their attack. “No one says they’d ‘hit it’ anymore,” he says. “And you’re not his type, either.”

“What’s his type, then?” Griff asks, teeth a startling white against the dark of his beard. There’s a challenge hidden in his grin.

Zayn’s never been one to recognise when to back down. “Harry likes lads who are gangly, thin like him. Not beefed up like you two meatheads.”

“I’ve slimmed down,” Ned protests at the same time Griff asks, “Skinny guys like you?”

“No.” Zayn’s flushed, he can feel it on his cheeks. “He likes, I dunno, indie rock hipster types, I guess.”

“Ah, little white dudes.”

“No,” Zayn tries again. He tries to roll his chair closer to his desk but Ned kicks out a foot and stops him. “Not ‘little white dudes’ just not lads like me,” Zayn expands. “I wouldn’t be right for him, anyway; ‘m too opinionated about things.”

“Doesn’t sound like you,” Ned says, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Do either of you actually work around here or is this project all on me?” he asks, getting uncomfortable as his flush colours his jaw and neck.

“Alright, alright, cool it, Zee,” Griff teases, pushing off from the wall. “We’re just saying: if you don’t want Harry dating other boys then that means you probably want him to be dating _you_.”

Zayn rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything further, keeping his head down and flicking his eyes from side to side to watch them both walk away in turn. He stands and shifts his position, tucking a leg under his bum before rolling back to his desk and trying to lose himself in his latest design instead of thinking about the legal notice waiting for him at home or the way Harry’s voice had sounded rough when he’d picked up the phone, as if he’d been out all night with some lad who wasn’t Zayn.

 

 

> When Cassie had found out she was expecting late in the October of the year they had started dating, Zayn had honestly been over the moon. He was making some money with his paintings and short stories, had a freelance deal with a couple of local magazines, and had thought he and Cassie were in love. He had called his parents with only the slightest hesitation, knowing they weren’t going to be completely thrilled that he and Cassie were only twenty-two and hadn’t been together very long.
> 
> His mum had reacted just as expected: happiness and worry intermixed into one. His dad was quiet for a long time, letting his wife air her emotions, before he had said in his gentle voice that he loved Zayn and was looking forward to meeting Cassie when they flew over for Christmas.
> 
> For something that hadn’t been planned and could have been a nightmare to navigate, everything had kind of fallen into place perfectly.
> 
> Robert Frost knew what he was talking about when he wrote ‘nothing gold can stay´ and Zayn soon found out that life wasn’t ready to let him have his happily ever after so easily.
> 
> A phone call came mid-December, when Cassie was twenty weeks into her high risk pregnancy. It was early evening for Zayn, which meant that it was already the next day for Doniya. Her voice sounded unnatural on the phone, Zayn always remembered afterwards. From the moment he picked up the line and heard her first word, she sounded different. Her voice was cold and the words she used were said in a brisk, short manner as if she was on the verge of losing control and would cross over the edge if she indulged in any emotion at all.
> 
> Fearing the worst, he had forced his mind to stay focused and not wander into any ‘what-if’ scenarios. He had listened while she told him that their parents had been in an accident driving home from a friend’s holiday party. They had been driving at night and the road was slippery from the sudden drop in temperature. Doniya said, hesitating only once between words, that their father had lost control and their car had struck a tree. They were both still alive- and, here, Zayn began to breathe again- but they had sustained major injuries in the crash and were in an intensive care unit.
> 
> Acting in a daze once they hung up, Zayn had immediately booked a flight to Manchester and then a coach into Bradford, paying for them using almost all of the money he had been saving for his son and for his next school semester. He didn’t even think about what he was doing, just knew he would deal with whatever consequences came. He needed to be with his family.
> 
> It was only when he had walked into the room he shared with Cassie, accidentally waking her from a nap, that he realised he hadn’t even told her he was going.
> 
> “What’s going on?” she had asked around a yawn, rubbing at her eyes. “Are you packing?”
> 
> Zayn had looked down at the duffle bag he was holding and clenched his jaw against the sting of tears, setting it on the edge of the bed softly and walking away to the dresser they shared. He grabbed a few changes of pants, tucking them into a corner of his bag before he answered, finally able to keep his emotions at bay.
> 
> “My parents were in an accident.”
> 
> “Shit,” she had said, sitting up so the comforter from their bed pooled around her slight belly instead. “Are they okay?”
> 
> “Yes- no- I’m not really sure,” Zayn had admitted, grabbing a pair of jeans from their closet and throwing them in with the pants. He began packing other odds and ends quickly, not really paying attention to what he was selecting.
> 
> “I don’t understand. Zayn, talk to me. What are you doing?”
> 
> He had thought it was obvious. “I have to fly out to see them.”
> 
> Cassie had been silent for a long moment, he realised later, but his back had been turned at the time as he rushed into the toilet next to the bedroom, grabbing his toothbrush. “I can’t fly, though,” she had called out.
> 
> Zayn had paused, leaning on the doorframe and looking at her. “I didn’t- expect you to come?”
> 
> Her pout caught him even further off-guard. “What are you trying to say?”
> 
> “I don’t understand what’s happening right now.” He had shuffled away to get a plastic bag for his toothbrush from their cramped kitchen.
> 
> “You’re just going to fly to England and leave me here?”
> 
> “I- yes,” Zayn said, his temper flaring as he walked back into the room. “I need to see my parents.”
> 
> Cassie stood up, tugging at her joggers and t-shirt where they’d bunched around her middle during sleep. “How are you paying for this?” she asked, crossing her arms.
> 
> “Well, I tried to give the airline Monopoly money but they didn’t take it.” Her expression didn’t change and he bit his lip against his own frustration. “I used my savings, Cassie, what else was I supposed to do?”
> 
> “You already bought the ticket? Zayn, that was money we were going to use for the baby’s nursery.”
> 
> “I know but this is more important.” He fought a wince as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew what he had said was true but he also knew Cassie wouldn’t take it well.
> 
> “More important? More important than our child?”
> 
> “It’s my parents, Cassie, what the fuck.”
> 
> “I can’t believe you used that money without talking with me!”
> 
> “It’s bloody mine!” Zayn had shouted. He wasn’t usually one to raise his voice but he had been pushed too far on top of his already high stress level from his sister’s phone call. “And I can’t believe you’re arguing with me about it! My parents- my _mum_ , Cassie- might be bloody dead by the time I even get there and you’re being selfish about me going to see them? Fuck, I might be arriving for their burials, I don’t even know.”
> 
> Like a puppet with its strings cut, Cassie had suddenly deflated. “I- shit, I know, Zayn.” She took a breath and he copied her. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry. I just- you know me: I’m complete shit when I wake up and I don’t handle emotions well on top of that. I’m sorry about your parents. Really.”
> 
> Zayn had nodded, though he was still on edge from the conversation. Something in his gut was uneasy, even after her seemingly sincere apology. He returned the hug and kiss she gave him, continuing to pack while she shuffled out of the room. When he finally tugged the zipper to his bag closed, he was still feeling out-of-sorts.
> 
> “I’m heading out,” he had said.
> 
> “I made you a sandwich,” Cassie had replied, turning around and holding out her offering. He took it from her, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Call me when you land, if you can remember. I can’t imagine how freaked out you are right now.”
> 
> “I will,” he had promised.
> 
> “I love you.”
> 
> He wrapped her up in a hug. “I love you, too,” he said. He pulled back and pressed his palm to her bump. “Love you, too, little guy.”

 

 

“You never really told us why you and Cassie broke up,” Ned says over lunch. They’re at a diner around the corner from their office, Zayn digging into a vegetarian omelette while Griff and Ned both opt for cheeseburgers.

Zayn coughs on a bite of green pepper, taking a long sip from his water glass to soothe his throat. “You guys were there for it,” he says. “Don’t you remember: ‘I can’t be a mum to them the way you can be a dad’?”

“Yeah, no, I meant the first time.”

Zayn grimaces, taking a bite from his plate again. “I fucked up,” he says. “My parents had just been in an accident because my dad had suffered a stroke. He wasn’t talking anymore and was having trouble walking. I fucking-,” Zayn breaks off, avoiding eye contact and taking another bite for some extra time. “My dad has always been my hero, my entire life. He was strong and smart and funny and it seemed like that just disappeared overnight. I had a nervous breakdown. It was like a break from reality almost.”

  

 

> In a late spurt of teenage rebellion coupled with anger at the entire world for what had happened to his father, Zayn had somehow decided that he would raze every part of his life to the ground. Even though Yaser was expected to make a full recovery, the reminder that his dad could be taken from him at any moment sparked an anger in Zayn that he didn’t like seeing.
> 
> He started blowing off school and his freelance commitments. He didn’t complete assignments, didn’t attend lectures and didn’t respond to his boss’ many emails. He pulled out of an art show even though he had been prepared for weeks. Day after day, Zayn didn’t see his friends or even leave his apartment. He ignored calls from everyone but his mum and, even with her, was short and relatively distant. He didn’t want to hear about his father’s progress because he didn’t want the reminder that he had almost been lost forever.
> 
> Cassie was, unfortunately, a lightning rod for his own personal storms. They had been growing apart even before his parents’ accident and she didn’t have the patience or compassion for his mood shifts that came afterwards. He couldn’t even blame her for it, knew he was being impossible. Knowledge didn’t help, though, because he couldn’t stop. He picked stupid little arguments over everything and Cassie would roll her eyes and dismiss him every time. He needed to release his frustration and becoming a hermit had limited his potential outlets.
> 
> Seeking out new targets finally motivated him to leave their flat and he’d started running off every time he recognised the signs of a pending blowout. There was no shortage of clubs or parties open and active in their neighbourhood at any time, and Zayn soon fell in with a crowd that was rougher than he was used to. He meddled with drugs and drank all night, blowing the last of his paychecks and savings on his new-found user friends. He hooked up with strangers and people on the fringe of his new crowd, not even attempting to hide his cheating from Cassie. He would stumble home in the late mornings, when it was closer to noon than midnight, with his hair and clothes smelling of gutters and bad decisions, and lipstick and hickies in obvious places on his jaw and neck.
> 
> Finally, Cassie had gotten fed up with his actions. No longer dismissing him so easily, she’d bicker and bitch right back at him when he’d figuratively poke at her to see how far he could push. The fought over every ridiculous thing they found to be unhappy about, though they never argued over important issues like money, respect or fidelity. Cassie never attacked Zayn for his sudden lack of motivation or sudden desire to party and cheat. Instead, she’d argue until they were both red in the face over the names they had picked out for their son or the colours of the nursery Zayn had painted months before. They fought to the point of screaming about Zayn painting his nails or about Cassie vaping while pregnant. They ignored each other for hours or even days at a time because Cassie had been chewing loudly or because Zayn hummed while he had been trimming his toenails.
> 
> It only took about two weeks of their new willingness to argue for them both to throw in the metaphorical towel. The foundation of their relationship had already been flimsy and weak, had cracked when they began realising their priorities weren’t in line and had crumbled to dust by the middle of February.

 

 

“That’s when you met Harry?” Griff asks, dipping his burger in a disgusting blend of ketchup, pepper and hot sauce.

Zayn nods, holding back an urge to gag. “I had been taking undergrad classes at community college the semester before. I would haunt campus every so often instead of going home and found a flyer in a coffee shop a day or two after we decided to separate. Harry was looking for a roommate and I’d had an English class with him before, so I didn’t think he could turn out to be too much of a creep.”

“Shows what you knew,” Ned jokes, though his smile fades when neither Zayn nor Griff acknowledge him. He scowls and throws some of his chips at them, which Zayn flicks off his omelette disinterestedly and Griff accepts with a shit eating grin.

 

 

> Harry had inherited a cramped loft apartment in the Bronx, only a couple of streets away from the Fordham Road shopping district. The flat was rent-controlled and was therefore surprisingly dirt cheap and the neighbors were much quieter than the ones that had lived near Zayn and Cassie.
> 
> During the quasi-interview they’d conducted at the very same coffee shop where Zayn had found Harry’s flyer, Zayn had been upfront with Harry about everything. Harry had frowned- a _lot_ \- when Zayn had admitted to his recent foray into certain bad habits but had smiled with compassion when Zayn expressed the desire to get himself back on track in order to be better for his son.
> 
> Zayn had thought the news of a screaming infant would put Harry off but the lad had just grinned wide when Zayn had asked if he was sure his son wouldn’t be a problem. “I love babies,” Harry had said before shaking Zayn’s hand and offering to show him around the apartment after his shift was over.
> 
> “You work here?” Zayn had asked. “How do you afford- you know what? It isn’t my business.”
> 
> “You shared with me,” Harry had reasoned. “My parents are… well-off and are paying my rent for now until I find a roommate to split it with. They agreed to pay for the first year but I’m hoping not to let it go that long.”
> 
> Though nice and well out of Zayn’s budget, there was no way around the fact that the flat was dreadfully small for two grown men and an incoming baby. Possibly sensing Zayn’s threatening feeling of dread and lost hope, Harry had started pointing out how they could creatively arrange the space. There was a loft, a small kitchen, a toilet and an extra-large living room area. Harry walked through each room, drawing imaginary furniture and especially room dividers through the air to paint the picture for Zayn. His enthusiasm had been contagious and Zayn had soon gotten into it, even picking out some colours they could paint the walls to make the spaces seem even bigger.
> 
> They agreed that Zayn would have the entire loft to himself and pay a little more, and Harry would split off part of the main room for his bedroom. They’d share the toilet and kitchen down the middle and take turns cooking and shopping, Harry promising to make a pasta that would rival any Zayn had ever tasted and Zayn promising in return to teach Harry how to make his mum’s recipes.
> 
> The promise of starting fresh in the city was the trigger that pulled Zayn entirely from his destructive funk. It was hard to be miserable in the face of Harry’s constant positivity. They signed an eighteen month-long lease agreement on a bar napkin after a round of beers. Harry, who was undergrad with plans of law school in his future, assured Zayn it was a totally legit lease. Zayn had laughed around the mouth of his drink, figuring he had hit rock bottom at that point in his life and could only climb back to the surface from there.
> 
> When he had called home to tell his mum about his recent changes, he had ended up on the phone with her for two long hours. They had cried when Zayn confessed how he had behaved since his father’s stroke and accident, Zayn’s mum berating him for his actions and then forgiving him in the next breath for every truth he told her. It felt like being absolved of sin, he had thought, especially when his mum had taken several long breaths to calm herself before moving into another room and putting his dad on.
> 
> “Hi, dad, it’s Zayn,” he had said into the phone, trying to keep the sound of his sniffles from carrying through.
> 
> “Of course it is,” his father said. “Who else would be making your mother cry like this? Only us lads do that.”
> 
> Zayn had laughed, struck with relief at the way his father sounded so much like he always had. His words were a bit slower in coming and there was a hint of a lisp that hadn’t been present before. He had made a remarkable recovery, though, considering he had woken from surgery with almost no ability to enunciate or decide upon his word choices.
> 
> “I’m done making mum cry,” Zayn had promised. “You, too, baba.”
> 
> “Just be a good boy,” Yaser had said. “And tell us when we can fly out to meet my pota, my grandson.”
> 
> “I’ll tell you, I promise.”

 

 

“I just don’t understand why you and Harry didn’t just fuck it out of your systems right in the beginning,” Griff says as he pulls cash out of his wallet to settle their bill. “I’ve met the guy and he’s always making eyes at you when you’re not looking.”

“No, he isn’t,” Zayn dismisses, finishing off his second glass of water. “I would have noticed if Harry ‘made eyes’ at me,” he says, using the air quotes. “We’ve been best mates for over three years.”

“That’s why I said: when you’re not looking,” Griff repeats. “It’s like you’ve never seen a Sandra Bullock movie.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and stands up. “Harry Styles and I are best friends,” he says, loudly and clearly. “Nothing more.”

 

  

> Moving in with Harry had been a turning point in many ways but the most surprising change had to have been when Zayn finally acquiesced to Harry’s repeated requests to do yoga together.
> 
> “It’ll change your life,” Harry had promised.
> 
> Zayn had doubted him but was game to try it anyway. He sat through a DVD in the small section of their living room that was leftover from Harry’s bedroom, learning how to breathe the ‘proper way’ and focus his thoughts. He had tried to take it seriously, knew how much faith Harry put into the science, but he hadn’t been able to stop his giggles through most of the meditation parts. Harry had just cracked an eye and glanced over at Zayn, a hint of a dimple poking in his cheek as he bit down on his own smile.
> 
> Having failed two classes and gotten himself on administrative notice, Zayn started feeling a healthy form of jealousy of Harry when he would be in class and Zayn would be left to his own thoughts in his loft. His parents had repaid him for his travel expenses when he had flown to see them after the accident and had given him a loan to buy himself out of his lease with Cassie. Zayn didn’t want to waste the second chance he’d been given and had- so far- not signed up to retake any classes until he made some more changes.
> 
> He had realised quickly in the pregnancy that what he was bringing in wouldn’t cover any but the barest expenses. What had seemed like plenty of money before was quickly turning out to be pittance compared to what he would need to keep his son in diapers. He had been playing around with the idea of going to school for architecture, turning his creative passion into something that would be more practical but still interest him. He needed a job he could count on to bring in a paycheck, and writing and painting weren’t paying the baby bills just yet. Architects flocked to New York City in droves and Zayn became determined to learn from and be the best of them all.
> 
> Having made the decision, he had contacted his financial aid advisor at the college, declared his new major and submitted applications for every form of aid for which he qualified. He rearranged his loft space, shoving his twin-sized bed into the corner next to the nursery area; a crib, a small dresser that would double as a changing table, and a rocking chair that he had splurged on when he saw it at a flea market he’d gone to with Harry when the latter had been looking for room dividers. The new space that was left behind he began using for sketches and homework assignments. He found a drafting table at a consignment store and Harry had even helped him DIY a stool for it.
> 
> Even with how prepared he had become in the short months since the breakup with Cass right before Trev was born, bringing his son home was still nerve wracking. Cassie and he had decided on joint custody, trading off one week at a time. The judge had recommended Trevor stay with one of them or the other until he was older, in order to have a more stable environment, but the lawyer Zayn’s mum was paying for was adamant that he could find himself at a disadvantage if he didn’t fight for more time. Cassie hadn’t objected and the judge had finally agreed.
> 
> Harry, who had quickly become Zayn’s very best mate, was so great with Trev. He’d stay up with him when he was colicky, would sing lullabies to him when Zayn couldn’t get him to go down, and loved measuring all of Trev’s milestones in the baby book Zayn had purchased but had never taken the time to complete. It’s up in a glass cabinet in Zayn’s new flat, pages upon pages filled in with Harry’s neat scrawl. Trev had, in turn, loved being around his Uncle Harry. He never smiled for anyone more, except maybe Zayn.
> 
> His parents, who flew in to meet their grandson when he was two months old, were quick to point out his connection with Harry.
> 
> “I like your new lad quite a lot,” Yaser had said to Zayn one evening. Harry had braved downtown New York City so close to Independence Day with his mum and the girls to take them to see the touristy sites, leaving Zayn and his dad home with Trev.
> 
> “Harry isn’t- we’re not like that,” Zayn had quickly pointed out. It was true; there was some mutual attraction that had expressed itself after a few drunken nights when they’d had a quick snog mainly to take comfort in another warm body, but they had always fallen asleep before anything further could happen and the next morning always brought no mention of the night before. It was better this way. Zayn had glanced over at his father, wanting to impress the words upon him to be sure he was listening. His parents always wanted him to find someone, be as happy as they are, and he couldn’t let his father think anything would happen with Harry.
> 
> The stroke had aged Yaser remarkably, his previously speckled hair now almost completely gray. Zayn had teased him about it when he’d first seen it on Skype before heading to a beauty supply store around the street from his house and getting the exact instructions and products he’d need to dye his whole head silver himself. Yaser had laughed like before his accident when he had seen it, loud and uncontrollable. It’s a memory that always makes Zayn smile.
> 
> “Are you sure?” Yaser asked. “The boy looks at you and Trev, here, like you’re the two most important things in his world.”
> 
> Something in the assuredness of his dad’s words had scared Zayn. He could admit to his crush on Harry- not a person alive who knew him had ever been able to resist his certain brand of sincere charm and Zayn was no exception- but he knew then that nothing could be worth losing him over. Not even if his father thought he saw a spark of something. Harry was officially placed on an ‘off-limits’ list that Zayn kept in the back of his brain.

 

 

“So you two _have_ been together?” Ned accuses, his words muffled with his thick scarf.

“No?”

“You just told us!”

“We’d make out a bit,” Zayn defends himself. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, because I routinely make out with my friends just for funsies.”

Zayn rounds on Griff, hoping for a show of support but he just shrugs. “Man, don’t look at me. I’ve never been friends like that with someone after a night together.”

“Harry’s just that way, though. He doesn’t mean anything by it- he kisses and cuddles everyone.”

“But you don’t,” Ned points out.

“Zayn’s feelings aren’t the ones in question,” Griff reasons.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Zayn interjects before Ned can answer back. “After that visit, things changed.”

 

 

> Once his parents had returned home, Zayn had started avoiding Harry in what he thought were subtle ways at the time. He’d beg off doing yoga together and skip morning breakfast, finding a hole-in-the-wall diner that wouldn’t leave him completely broke if he bought a to-go coffee from them every morning.
> 
> He started hanging out with Cassie again, apologizing repeatedly to her for the mess he had been in and the way he had treated her and himself. They would grab dinner together with Trev and meetup for walks and playtime in the park. Quickly, they’d find their hands intertwined at their sides while Zayn pushed Trev on the swings, Cassie leaning her head on his shoulder and telling him she’d missed being his friend.
> 
> The draw of having a family started already was the catalyst that brought them even closer, Zayn being unable to resist telling Cassie all his plans for them if they could find their way back to each other again. Less heat and less passion came with their second go-around but Zayn told himself he didn’t need that, didn’t need love- he was with the mother of his child and they were a family.
> 
> Though his parents warned him against it and even Harry attempted to stage an intervention with the help of Louis and Niall, Zayn informally moved back into the flat he’d once shared with Cassie. He proposed to her on Trevor’s first birthday, the three of them blowing out the candles of a maple cake Harry had made for the occasion. None of Zayn’s friends or family were there, just Cassie’s parents making the drive in from Jersey, but he ignored the little voice in his head telling him there was something still wrong about the entire arrangement.
> 
> It didn’t take long for the relationship to crumble again- the two of them quickly realising that they couldn’t force themselves to fit together anymore. As with all things, Zayn should have listened to his family and friends, especially his mum. The whole ordeal had lasted only a couple of months and Trev wasn’t yet walking on his own when Zayn packed his things again and went back to the flat he still paid partial rent for.
> 
> Two weeks later, Cassie took a pregnancy test and called Zayn in tears when it came back positive.
> 
> Zayn couldn’t help the pang of regret he felt when he and Cassie had sat down together to have a serious conversation about terminating before she hit the second trimester. Zayn held her hand while they spoke and hugged her when she said she would have the baby, kissing her warm cheeks and promising he would do so much better at co-parenting this time and would never let her be the subject of his frustration again.
> 
> This pregnancy was harder to announce to his parents than the first had been. He had been doing really well with balancing Trevor, school and even a mild social life with Harry, Louis and Niall. Having another child- an infant right when Trev would be entering the toddler stage and still in diapers of his own- would set him back in every area. But he held his son in his arms when he placed the call to his parents, looking down at the wisps of blonde curls he’d inherited from his mother and realising he would have given up anything in the world to have another little boy made just the same way.
> 
> Cassie seemed to withdraw as the weeks went on. She looked tired every time Zayn came by to drop Trevor off and looked even worse when she’d come by the flat to return him. Zayn offered to help her find a counselor or take her to the one he’d seen briefly after his father’s stroke but she brushed him off and refused, eventually moving back to Tenafly to live with her parents. She started showing up later and later for their trade-off with Trev and eventually began calling last minute to ask Zayn to keep him another night.
> 
> It somehow still came as a shock when Cassie told him she didn’t think she could do it anymore- didn’t think she could be a mother to two little boys. She loved them- she promised and Zayn believed her- but she couldn’t make herself do the right things to keep herself healthy and take care of Trev at the same time.
> 
> Zayn offered to help her more financially- would take on a larger burden to help ease her mind and lift some of her worries- but she was adamant about her wants and so she signed away her rights to custody of both Trevor and their unborn child, a son Zayn named after the morning star.
> 
> After a quick labour, Cassie held Tariq Asad for a long time. Zayn settled in an armchair in her room, pushing it against the wall to give her the illusion of privacy as she cried a little and promised the bundle in her arms that she loved him so much even if she wouldn’t be seeing him for awhile. It broke Zayn’s heart.
> 
> “Just call me if you ever want to see them,” he had promised when she had announced she was done. Zayn took him from her arms gently and leaned in to kiss her goodbye, whispering his promise again. “No questions asked,” he said.
> 
> He could never forget how fragile she had looked the moment she shook her head no, a burst blood vessel in her eye from the delivery and her face splotchy red from her crying. Her skin was pale under the flush and shiny with sweat, her hair limp and her lips white from the pressure of her biting into them. Her eyes, though, her blue eyes were bright from her tears and somehow resolved when she told Zayn she couldn’t be a mother to the boys. Not the way he could be a father to them.

 

 

“I brought Tariq home to my flat with Harry and Trev, our co-op not ready for a few more weeks, and we found a good balance between us all. Harry tried to get us to not go- _because he loves the boys_ ,” Zayn quickly adds, stomping snow from his shoes as he walks into the lobby of his office building. “But the co-op was in a nicer neighbourhood, my parents had already paid my way into the unit, and the rent was unbelievably affordable. We had all just been promoted here and it just… made sense to have a house separate from Harry.”

“Even though he’s over almost every day.”

“He watches the boys in the afternoons some days so I don’t have to pay a full day rate at Miss Julie’s for just a couple hours. Louis and Niall do the same.”

“But they’re not the same with the boys as Harry is.”

“He lived with them when they were little. They’re, like, bonded I dunno. It isn’t a thing.”

“Okay,” Griff says, slinging an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and leading him into the elevator. “We’ll let this go. But we’re both going to be smug as fuck if it turns out we were right.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond further.

 

 

The rest of his afternoon passes in a haze, his mind half on work and half on the paperwork he’d left out for Harry to look over. He had gone through a lot of trial-and-error to establish a rhythm with the two boys. His classes at the NIYT- the New York Institute of Technology- in their architecture and design college were easy to schedule for weekends or online so he could spend the maximum amount of time at home.

Everything has settled well and now something is threatening to disrupt his carefully balanced life.

With thirty minutes before he can clock out and go home, he gives up on his blueprints and meticulously dusts down his desk area until everything is clean and he has finally hit five o’clock so he can bolt for the first train that will get him home.

Praying that Harry has found something, a special clause or loophole that will expose the whole thing as a farce, Zayn unlocks his door and steps into his flat.

Jasper and Sawyer are playing in the living room, Trev watching them in fascination.

“Hey, jaan,” Zayn says, hanging his coat and slipping off his boots. He can just see into the room from the front door but he moves into the doorframe to get a better view. “What is that they’re playing with?”

“Hi, baba!” Trev said in excitement, jumping up from the floor to run and hug Zayn around the middle. “Uncle Harry bought Jasper a new toy to make him like him but Jasper just took it and runned away from him.”

“Ran away,” Zayn corrects automatically.

“Ran away,” Trev repeats.

“Do you know where your uncle is, jaan? And where’s Tariq?”

“Sleeping. Uncle Harry said he was crabby and needed a nap because he was being a brat.”

“That’s not nice of you to call your little brother names,” Zayn scolds gently, running a palm along the top of Trev’s thick mess of blonde curls.

“Sorry, baba.”

“Is Uncle Harry napping, too?”

Trev shrugs. “I dunno. I think he’s making dinner.”

“I’ll go check in on them, you stay here with the cats, okay? Do you want the telly on?”

Zayn walks away after Trev shakes his head. “What’d you buy for the cat, Haz?” Zayn asks as he enters the kitchen, finding Harry combing over the legal paperwork with a notepad open near him, hand flying across the page as he scribbles down notes. “Oh, shit,” Zayn says, stopping and staring. There’s several pages already flipped over and a glass of water sits nearly untouched next to Harry’s elbow, the ice all melted down. “Is it that complicated?”

“No,” Harry assures, turning to look at him. He grins but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I just do better when I parse it down to the bare bones of it.” He caps his pen and sets it down.

Zayn nods and turns to the fridge, pulling it open and staring inside. He can’t remember what he’d wanted but he isn’t sure he’s ready to face the music. Taking a breath and deciding to bite the bullet, he asks, “What are they looking like? The bones.”

“I don’t…”

Zayn looks back at Harry over his shoulder. Harry’s biting his fingernail nervously and blinking slowly up at him. “If you need more time to look it over-” Zayn starts but Harry cuts him off.

“No, I just… I don’t know how to say it, I guess.”

Zayn grabs two beers, the _fuck it_ loud in his head as he lets the refrigerator door close with a click, and uncaps them before handing one over to Harry and taking a seat at the kitchen island. “So it’s bad,” Zayn says, surmising enough from Harry’s hesitance. Harry’s near the top of his class at Columbia; if he’s got notes that extensive, there’s probably a lot of shit heading Zayn’s way.

“She isn’t very nice about you in her motion.”

“Me?” Zayn asks, the liquid bitter on his tongue. “Why is she talking about me at all? I thought this was about her wanting her custody rights restored.”

“It is but. She’s kind of tearing you down to make herself look better.”

Surprise floods Zayn’s mind and he takes another sip. “I don’t get it.”

“It happens sometimes.”

“I know, I guess, but I just thought that… I mean, I know I’m not the best dad out there-”

“Yes you fucking are,” Harry interjects angrily.

“-but I’ve been good to these boys. I’ve done literally everything I could do for them and, I know I rely on you and the lads for a lot-”

“We love helping you and hanging out with them. It’s not exactly a hardship, hanging out with two of the sweetest little boys literally ever,” Harry says.

“I just can’t believe she’s saying I’ve messed up. What- how could she even know anything about how I’m doing? She’s never even seen us since Tar was born.”

Harry moves on to nip at his index finger’s nail instead, the skin already red and raw. He looks down at his paper instead of meeting Zayn’s eye and Zayn follows his gaze, watching as Harry not-so-subtly moves his arm to hide the writing from Zayn’s view.

“Haz, I need you. You’re the only one I trust with this- with _them_. You have to tell me what they say. They’re gibberish to me.”

With clear resignation, Harry lifts his arm and picks up his notepad and puts the turned pages back down. He drags his pen along the words, recalling what he’d previously written. “Um,” he hums, eyes scanning until they start blinking rapidly and he glances nervously at Zayn, looking for something in his expression. Zayn has no idea what his face looks like right now, can’t feel it if he’s honest, but Harry just nods and clears his throat again. “Well, Cassie mentions that, when she was pregnant with Trevor, you started using drugs heavily.”

“I did,” Zayn says, feeling his skin flush in remembered shame. “I’m not proud of it.”

“Cassie says that a drug user can’t be capable of raising children and asks that you be subjected to random drug tests in order to maintain custody.”

The colour that floods Zayn’s face has nothing to do with shame and everything to do with boiling hot rage. “I don’t- does she even have the right to make that a requirement?”

Harry shakes his head quickly. “ _No_ ,” he says with emphasis. “This is just her throwing everything she can think of into this motion in order to find what will stick.”

Zayn sighs, letting his head drop and running his fingers through his hair, the strands greasy and messy from him tugging at it all day. “I haven’t touched that shit in years. I barely even smoke up with Louis anymore. Some wine split with you and a few cigarettes are my vices currently. I can’t even remember that atmosphere I was in, I was there for such a short time. It just- it had a big impact on our relationship, of course. And on me.”

“Babe, I know,” Harry says, his voice gentle in a way that would make Zayn bristle were it to come from anyone else. “She’s just playing the game.”

“What else?”

Harry frowns at his short tone but doesn’t protest the redirect, probably understanding how Zayn is feeling. He glances at his notes again but answers quicker this time. “Cass is saying that you have trouble staying in work and lose motivation to complete goals. She mentions something about you failing a couple of classes.”

“That’s-”

“It’s stupid and easy to disprove,” Harry cuts in quickly. “It gets, erm, a little worse, though.”

“How can it possibly?”

“She says, well, she implies that you are the type to… the type to go through a string of partners without caring who you let in your bed. That raising children in an environment like that would stunt their emotional growth. That she’s recently married and would set a better example for the boys.”

“I- she- I-” Zayn makes several starts to speak but he has too many thoughts running through his head and doesn’t know which to focus on. “I am not some hard-partying Lothario, hell-bent on destroying my life.”

“I know you’re not.”

“And, you know what? Let’s pretend for, like, five seconds that I am, somehow, this terrible example for our boys. Why did she leave them with me for the last nineteen months? Tar’s been held by his mum one time- once- his entire life. If I’m so awful then where has she been?”

“She does mention-” Harry starts before Tariq comes into the room, rubbing at his eyes and frowning.

“Baba roud,” he scolds. He lifts his arms in the air. “Up.”

“Say ‘please’,” Harry reminds him before Zayn can.

“‘Prease,” Tar repeats and Zayn smiles and lifts him to his hip.

“Baba was loud, huh?” he asks. Tar nods and rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder, one hand fisting a fold of Zayn’s jumper. “Are you hungry, jaan?” Another nod. “Ask Uncle Harry if he’s staying for dinner.”

Tar lifts his head, looking over at Harry with big, doe eyes. “Unc’ Arry stay?” he says.

Harry grins and reaches out a hand, letting his finger trace the chubby curve of Tar’s jaw. “Of course, baby. Thank you.”

Tar smiles, bringing his fist up so he can mouth at it.

“Stop eating your hands,” Zayn chides him, getting his own finger around the baby’s pudgy arm and tugging his fist away gently.

“Well, we’re starving, baba,” Harry teases. “What choice do we have?” He stands and guides the papers and his notepad into a neat pile, slipping them into a folder and then into his bag before hanging it over the back of his abandoned chair.

“Don’t encourage this behavior.”

Harry glances up at him, his eyes dragging over Tar for a moment before meeting Zayn’s. His curls are falling into his face, his own locks greasy-looking like Zayn’s are, and Zayn’s fingers itch to reach out and press them back. He hesitates and Harry beats him to it, his long, skinny, ring-adorned fingers tucking his hair behind his ear as he blows a raspberry to make Tar giggle. It cuts the tension in the air and makes Zayn smile.

“You guys go play,” Zayn says, handing an eager Tar off to Harry. “I’ll get dinner going.”

“You want any help? We can finish going through the papers after the rugrats are asleep.”

“Not rugrat!” Tar protests even as Zayn shoos them away.

“Consider dinner a ‘thank you’ for looking everything over for me. You go above and beyond the call of friendship, every time.”

“Like you wouldn’t do the same,” Harry says, walking from the room quickly so Zayn can’t respond any further.

Shaking his head, he tucks the bar stools back under the island’s overhang, picking up Harry’s bag and setting it on the flat of the chair so the cats aren’t tempted to scratch it up. He crosses over to the fridge, opening the door and checking the shelves for dinner ideas. He spots a package of ground turkey and figures it’s time for spag bol to make an appearance in their dinner rotation.

He tries his best to shake off his thoughts of Cassie and the legal paperwork. His burden is slightly lifted knowing that Harry’s looked at the paperwork, at least. He’s had Harry next to him every step of the way since he brought Trevor home and he knows Harry will do everything that needs to be done to keep Zayn and his boys protected.

He can’t entirely rid himself of the nagging self-doubt that tells him he isn’t a good father, though.

Somehow, though he nearly nicks his fingers twice as he chops an onion and some mushrooms for the sauce, dinner comes together without delay or injury. The cats circle Zayn’s feet as he shuffles around the kitchen, clearly ready for their own suppers, and Zayn dishes them out two bowls of dry food before calling out for Harry and his sons to come eat.

“What is it?” Trev asks.

“Spag bol,” Zayn answers. He barely resists rolling his eyes when Trev frowns. “It’s with turkey, not beef, just the way you like it,” he promises as he turns back to the stove. He gets Tar’s bowl ready first, running a knife through his pasta a few times to make it easier to help Tar eat if needed. The noodles aren’t too long and a spoonful of sauce goes over the top with a quick spin to mix it- a self-preservation thing Zayn picked up a long time ago: it will still taste good but, if Tar ‘isn’t feeling’ spaghetti tonight, he won’t be able to make the world’s largest mess.

Zayn _hopes_ he won’t be able to, at least.

“Are you sure?” Trev asks. Zayn hears him scooting his chair out so he can climb onto the seat.

“Baba made it differently this time, just for you.”

“Thank you, baba,” he hears Harry whisper before Trev repeats him.

“You’re welcome,” he says as he finishes plating the rest of their dinner bowls. He picks out some of the chunkier pieces of meat from Trev’s bowl, knowing his son will balk at anything that catches his attention. If he makes sure Trev’s dinner looks as uniform as possible, there’s a chance he might finish the entire meal.

Though he doesn’t hear Harry approach, the warm hand on the small of his back is less startling than it should be. Harry keeps him still with a push of his palm as he slides up next to Zayn, their hips brushing. “Smells amazing,” Harry says, voice carrying the same warmth Zayn’s used to. “Let me help, I’ll take a plate.”

Zayn grabs two bowls at random, lifting his arms and letting Harry snatch the other two from underneath. Harry moves forward first, setting down Tariq’s bowl in front of the baby and then the second in front of his own seat, not needing to ask which bowl was which. Zayn sets down the bowls in his hands and turns back to the kitchen but Harry’s already pulling down cups and glasses.

“What is everyone drinking?” Harry asks, turning and smiling. “I can help,” he mouths and Zayn rolls his eyes but smiles back.

“Can I have juice?” Trev asks politely, Tar echoing his brother with excitement. Harry swaps out one of the cups for Trev’s frog sippy cup, the only thing he’ll use when drinking apple juice. It’s one of his boy’s many weird quirks and seeing Harry appease it so easily makes Zayn feel more confident that he and Harry are going to be successful in beating Cassie’s motion- nobody is better for these boys than they are.

“Our juice, baba?” Harry asks, winking with exaggeration when he looks back to Zayn. Zayn nods, grabbing down two wine glasses and passing them over. He doesn’t protest when Harry fills them over what they’d typically drink.

It’s just that kind of night.

Harry takes the drinks for the boys and Zayn carries their wine, the two of them settling around the small table and digging in to their food with enthusiasm. Tar satisfies himself with eating his noodles, pinching pieces between his fingers and bringing them to his mouth. Harry and Zayn take turns wiping at his face and keeping his mind on his dinner, knowing his concentration will wander if they let it.

“Is there more?” Harry asks once he’s halfway through his glass of wine.

“I think there’s another bottle of white.”

“Didn’t we finish it when El and Lou brought Evie over?”

Zayn can’t remember but he frowns at his glass, trusting Harry. “I don’t think this will be enough, then.”

“I don’t think a tanker could hold enough for us tonight.”

 

 

“I don’t think this is something we’re going to solve in one sitting,” Harry says.

His voice is quiet and scratchy in the dark after hours of them talking through the custody case and drinking a bottle of disgustingly cheap wine Zayn had found hidden away in a cupboard. Though the taste was almost impossibly bad, Harry had made a legal argument for alcohol so persuasively that alcohol had eventually won. “You’ll make a great attorney,” Zayn had said, earning himself a full-blown smile in response and an extra half-serving of the vile liquor.

The boys have been down for quite some time, the baby monitor set down next to Zayn on the table. It’s a ridiculous purchase, since the flat is tiny in its own right, but there’s some comfort in having it that makes Zayn feel more secure. He rubs his left eye with his fist, silently agreeing with Harry that there isn’t anything further the two of them are going to be able to do.

“You need to get some sleep,” Harry says quietly.

“ _You_ need to get some sleep,” Zayn returns, his attempted sass broken by an unexpected yawn.

“Hmm, somebody sounds cranky. Just like a certain toddler I know,” Harry teases. “But with an edge of a buzz I’ve certainly never heard from the baby.”

Zayn sticks out his tongue.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. C’mon, champ, let’s get you to bed.” Harry stands and reaches out for Zayn’s hand, using his grip to pull Zayn to his feet.

“Grumble, grumble,” Zayn says with a grin, giggling when Harry rolls his eyes.

“So that’s where your boys get their hatred for bedtime from,” he teases. “When we lived together, you used to love sleep.”

Zayn shrugs as Harry pushes him down the hall, guiding him around the corners gently until they’re in his bedroom. He yawns again around a confession, “I don’t want to miss anything, now. Feel like I closed my eyes and Trev suddenly had another birthday. Don’t want to blink and miss Tar, too.”

“I know, I can’t believe how big your boy is,” Harry says as he pulls out a soft pair of joggers. Zayn doesn’t think about how Harry seems to inherently know that they’re his favorites. “He’s half your size already, shrimp.”

“What’s with all the nicknames?” Zayn asks, grumbling for real. “Champ, shrimp… M’name is Zayn.”

“That’s interesting,” Harry drawls. “I hadn’t been aware of that.”

Zayn smiles as he pulls his jumper over his head. He tugs at the bottom of his undershirt to smooth it back down, sleepily unbuttoning his trousers and letting them fall to the floor before stepping into the joggers. “Get undressed,” he says.

“Come again?”

“You’re not gonna sleep in skinnies, are you?”

“I’m not staying.”

Zayn scoffs. “It’s too late for you to go home; the subway’s almost stopped for the night and a cab would be ridiculously expensive. Just get in and leave from here in the morning.”

Harry stands still for a long moment while Zayn shuffles over to his bed, placing the baby monitor on his nightstand and folding back the comforter before sliding in on his side of choice. He peers over the edge of the blankets after pulling them up to his nose. “Harry? C’mere.”

With a shake of his head, his curls bouncing with the motion, Harry starts moving again. He undoes his trousers quickly and pulls them down his legs. Zayn doesn’t let himself watch too closely, doesn’t feel comfortable with the thoughts he would have, but he does turn to face Harry once he climbs into bed next to him.

“Can I have a cuddle?” he asks, eyes already watering from how tired he is.

Harry grins, a smile that is easy to see in the light shining in from the streetlamps outside. “Always,” he says, shifting onto his back and letting Zayn curl into his side. They shared countless naps curled up together on a sofa or one of their beds while they lived together but it’s been a long time since Zayn has been able to rest his head over the soothing beat of Harry’s heart. It’s an inherently familiar pattern and it relaxes him into a lull.

“I don’t deserve a friend like you,” he whispers, groaning when Harry immediately starts humming Aladdin. “Harry,” he whines, dragging out his vowels. “You’re being a dork.”

Harry laughs, running a large palm down Zayn’s back, feeling out the bumps of his spine through his thin vest. “You deserve a lot more than friends, Zee. You’re a good one.”

Zayn tries to respond, opens his mouth to say something, but he loses his train of thought before he can speak. He noses into the strip of skin above Harry’s t-shirt, his lips just teasing at the edge of the fabric. He lets his body settle the rest of the way, feeling how heavily he’s laying against Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t complain, just shifts a bit under Zayn and gets an arm tighter around him.

Zayn drifts off quickly. Right before he does, he thinks he feels the pressure of Harry’s lips at the edge of his hairline.


	2. the light in my deepest darkest hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More misunderstandings and boys being dumb. Introducing: Liam

Something startles Zayn into sudden awareness the next morning, his eyes opening wide and his breath catching in his throat. He’s confused for the first few seconds, not used to waking up wrapped around another person, but then he remembers Harry staying the night before. He grudgingly lifts himself from Harry’s warmth, planting his elbows in the mattress and pushing himself up as he looks around.

His sons are standing at the edge of the bed, identical hazel eyes wide.

“Erm, hey,” Zayn says softly, coughing a bit to clear his throat.

“Brekkie?” Tar asks hopefully.

“Is that Uncle Harry?” Trev asks.

As if he needs to confirm, Zayn looks down. He clearly knows whose half-hard cock is pressing against his lower belly and he has a situation happening in his own joggers, so he nods to his boys and shifts to sit on his bottom, tugging the comforter over their waists as he sits up. He passes a hand over his eyes to try and wipe away the sleep before he grabs for his glasses on the bedside table. “I’ll make brekkie in a minute, baby,” he promises. “And, yes, Uncle Harry stayed the night. Is that okay?”

Trev shrugs and pulls himself up and onto the bed, just able to make it. Zayn tries to subtly nudge Harry awake as he reaches down and over to lift Tar up, the toddler a solid weight in his hands. His cuddly boys both crawl under the covers, Tar squeezing between Harry and Zayn and Trev curling into Zayn’s side.

“Unc’ Arry,” Tar says, patting at Harry’s cheeks. “No sreeping.”

Zayn curls an arm around Trev, pulling him a little closer as they watch Tar try to wake up his uncle. Zayn can tell Harry isn’t sleeping anymore, knows how slow and even his breaths were against Zayn’s chest just a moment before. Tar pulls at Harry’s lips gently, humming and reaching his fingers for Harry’s eye when Harry cracks one open at the last second, humming back and focusing on Tar.

“Brekkie, Unc’ Arry,” Tar says, fist resting on Harry’s cheekbone.

“Did you bring me breakfast?” Harry asks, his voice unnaturally low and sleep-rough. He clears his throat, his Adam’s apple bouncing.

“No,” Tar says, patting at Harry’s face again as if in apology.

“Hmm, I think you did,” Harry returns. Tar narrows his eyes in confusion but Harry’s quick like a shot, his hand reaching up for Tar’s wrist and bringing it closer to his mouth. He mimes nipping at Tar’s chubby baby fingers and smacks his lips. “I think you brought me a little baby hand for breakfast.”

Tariq shouts and giggles, his shrieks filling the room as Harry traps his other hand and pretends to eat it, as well. Trevor laughs, pushing his glasses further up his nose, and Harry freezes.

“Is there… _more_ food for me?” he asks in a dramatic voice, slowly looking up from Tar and over to the elder Malik boy. His gaze zeroes in on Trevor’s hand in an obvious way. “Ooh, this one is a bit bigger. More meaty.”

Trev giggles and shoves away from Zayn’s chest, making to run down to the foot of the bed but Harry grabs him around the middle and holds him back, pulling him into his chest.

“Quick, Zayn, get the salt and pepper!”

Tar and Trev work together, pushing and pulling at Harry’s hands in turn as they play fight. The laughter of all three of them makes something in Zayn’s stomach hurt but he can’t stop smiling in what he knows is an absurdly fond way. This is all he ever wants: his boys and his best, best mate.

Only his best mate, never anything more. Can’t be anything more. Ever.

“Hullo, what’s going on in here?” Zayn hears. He’s dragged out of his own thoughts at the sound, turning and seeing Niall stood in the doorway. “Hey Haz, am I not babysitting today?”

“Niall!” his sons both shout, nearly at the same time. Zayn lifts Tar to the ground quickly before he can attempt to jump off by himself. He vaguely registers Harry doing the same on his side with Trev.

“Hey, little lads!” Niall says, a permanent grin on his face as he returns their hugs and does his “secret” handshake with Trev. “Ready to learn a new song?”

Niall’s been teaching them guitar anytime he watches them, determined that one of his nephews or nieces will end up a famous musician. So far, all of his hope is riding on Evie, Louis’ newborn daughter, as Zayn’s sons don’t seem to be musically inclined. The boys are both a bit tone deaf and more interested in dancing while Niall sings than in inspecting or learning anything about the guitar.

Tone deaf but still enthusiastic about their time spent with Niall if the way they start bouncing and shouting is any indication. Niall looks up at Zayn and glances briefly to Harry before extending a hand to each boy. “Let’s go raid the fridge for some breakfast and give baba and Uncle Harry a minute to… themselves.”

Zayn flushes hot at the implication. He opens his mouth to deny anything and everything Niall might be thinking but he’s already walking away, a Malik boy on either side. Zayn glances over at Harry, noting the spots of pink on his cheeks and chest.

“Sorry for-” he starts to say just as Harry begins with, “Thanks for letting me crash.”

Zayn shrugs, pursing his mouth and biting the inside of his lips to keep himself from saying anything else.

For all that Niall’s assumptions had brought heat to Harry’s cheeks, there’s not even a hint of embarrassment in Harry’s eyes. They’re just as warm as they always are, green and shining as Harry smiles at him. His flush has faded, too, though Zayn’s cheeks somehow grow warmer as Harry slides out from under the covers. Overnight, his pants must have bunched around his upper thighs because they’re riding high now, exposing the thickest part of his legs. Harry tugs at the fabric distractedly, looking around for his trousers before finally spotting them where he had left them, folded, the night before.

There’s a hint of chub still in the heavy weight of his cock in his pants. Zayn feels guilt wash over him when he realises what he’s doing and he turns around so he can’t ogle his best mate any further. He sucks in a quiet breath, ignoring the way his mouth is watering and telling himself it’s just hunger pains.

Food hunger. Nothing else.

He adjusts himself in his joggers before grabbing for a discarded jumper that’s been on the floor by his bed for days, possibly. Maybe even weeks. Either way, the sweatshirt passes Zayn’s sniff test so he tugs it over his head, adjusting his glasses when they get knocked askew.

It’s only when he turns around, one hand in his hair trying to fight away the bedhead, that he sees the intense way Harry’s staring at him. Self-conscious, Zayn tugs at the throat of the jumper as it suddenly feels tight. Harry’s eyes are focused on the sweatshirt and Zayn looks down to follow his gaze, his momentary nerves dissipating when he realises it’s emblazoned with the logo for Columbia Law in big, blue letters. “Oops,” he tries, barely suppressing a smile in the now-welcoming collar of the shirt, the fabric soft against his lips.

“Thief,” Harry accuses, though there’s little heat behind his words.

“To be fair,” Zayn protests, “I’m pretty sure you left this here. I didn’t swipe it from your wardrobe or anything.”

“You just never returned it.”

“It’s very soft and it likes me better.”

“You wore it out,” Harry says, stepping around the corner of the mattress so he can reach out and tug at the cuff of the sleeve where it’s stretched and faded from Zayn’s terrible habit of biting at his sweater paws.

“I’ll replace it,” Zayn says quickly, not liking the serious set to Harry’s mouth. Harry’s eyes flick up, meeting Zayn’s head-on and Zayn is suddenly aware of how very close Harry is standing to him. He thinks he could just tilt his chin up a little, close his eyes, and push forward an inch or so before he could discover what Harry’s mouth tastes like without the hint of alcohol lingering on his tongue. Zayn could see if he notices the difference from their drunken snogs years ago.

Before he can make a potential mistake, mesmerized by the sour-yet-familiar way Harry smells after a night’s sleep and a skipped shower, Harry clears his throat. “Don’t be silly,” he says.

It takes a moment for Zayn to come back up for air, blinking his eyes rapidly and taking a step back before he realises Harry isn’t a mind reader or rebuffing Zayn’s clear intentions; he’s just answering the last thing Zayn’s said and it takes him far too long to remember the offer he’d just made to buy Harry a new sweatshirt. He masks his confusion with a grin, pulling his hands into the sleeves and pushing his glasses up again, giving himself a second to hide his expression from Harry’s always-analyzing eyes. “Let’s get some breakfast then,” he says, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. “Niall will eat it all and not even apologize for not saving us some.”

“I should head out, actually,” Harry says, words slow. “It’s Friday so I’ve got my full day of classes.”

“Right,” Zayn nods, brushing at his nose. “I knew that. You’ll want to go home and change.”

Harry nods in return as he somehow shoves his hands into the impossibly tiny pockets of his trousers. “I liked hanging out last night,” he says. “We don’t do that very much anymore.”

“Do what? Get sloshed on shit wine and pass out before ten?”

“Saucy,” Harry admonishes, lifting an arm and flicking Zayn on the shoulder. Their banter momentarily broke the tension in the air but then Harry’s face grows serious again. “About Cassie and her petition: you’ll go through mediation first. No judge will give her a hearing right away, not after all this time. You’ve had physical and legal custody of both boys- of Tar for his entire life and Trev for most of his. You’re golden in the eyes of the court.”

“What do I do next?”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

Zayn thinks, biting at his lip. “My parents had hired one before Trevor was born. She helped with the custody situation then. I haven’t needed anything from her since, though.” He takes a breath, knowing how Harry is going to react. “I don’t… she’s a family friend and if I go to her again, my parents will find out. I don’t want them to know.”

“Zayn-”

“Just, not yet,” Zayn hedges. “I need some time. My dad… I don’t want to be the one to give him news that’s going to break his heart.”

“I don't want to go behind your mum’s back,” Harry says. He holds up a hand when Zayn makes to protest. “ _But_ , this is your decision and I won’t tell you what to do. If you want to go with someone else, we will.”

“So, do you have any recommendations?”

“My TA is licensed and has a history with custody law- both professional and personal.”

Zayn frowns.

“I can set up a meeting, just for coffee or something. You can discuss it with him and see if I’ve missed anything.”

“You haven’t,” Zayn says, feeling confident in that fact. Harry loves the boys as if they were his own; he wouldn’t have allowed himself to miss a single detail. “Is this going to be a problem for you with school, though?”

Harry shakes his head. “Let me bring Liam into this,” he presses. Zayn sees the intensity in his eyes and realises something: Harry is just as nervous about the petition as Zayn is. Possibly more if he understands more of it than he is letting on.

Zayn feels the stinging threat of tears at the corners of his eyes. He hates when people see him cry, so he does the only thing he can think of and that’s pull Harry into a hug so tight it takes his own breath away. He buries his face into the soft fabric of Harry’s t-shirt, letting it soak up his tears. Harry holds him until Zayn feels okay with pulling away. He rubs his sleeve- Harry’s sleeve- across his eyes and ignores the spots on the collar of Harry’s t-shirt.

“Sorry,” Zayn says, laughing wetly.

Harry isn’t exactly dry eyed. “Is that a yes to Liam?” he asks, smiling crookedly and sniffling.

Zayn nods. “I’ll meet with Liam. I still want you to be involved though, if you’re okay with that.”

“Shut up, of course I am. Like I would trust anyone else one hundred percent with our boys. I’ll be looking over everything.”

“Tha-“

Harry claps a hand over his mouth. “If you try to thank me one more time for this, I’m going to demand that jumper back right now.”

Zayn smiles and only barely resists licking Harry’s palm. He lets Harry drag him out of his room and into the kitchen, where Harry does end up staying for breakfast and Niall watches them closely but resists making any comments or asking any questions.

 

 

On Fridays, Zayn’s team only works for the first half of the day. The company calls them “PD Fridays” for Professional Development and there’s always a new email in his inbox every Friday morning about using the second half of the day for creative pursuits to apply to work come Monday morning. It’s a solid tactic, Zayn can’t deny, and boosts morale immensely. He will admit that he has never once used his afternoon off for anything other than coming home early and spending time with his boys.

He picks up a Chinese takeaway before jogging down to the subway. The woman standing next to him on the platform makes more than one face at the food in his hand but she’s also wearing socks with sandals in early November so Zayn doesn’t take her opinion to heart. His train comes quickly enough and she stays behind, anyway.

It’s a quick enough ride back home- half the time it used to take him to get to the flat he shared with Harry- and he’s opening up the door just as the music lesson is wrapping up for the day. He drags one foot as he steps inside, discouraging any attempts to escape that the Houdini cats might try to make. He’s had too many instances of chasing one, the other, or both down the hallway to risk it happening today with his arms full and his boys in a good mood. Tariq is the first one to see him when he steps into the living room, putting the takeaway down on the table and pulling off his gloves.

Tar stops dancing mid-bounce, falling backwards and landing on his nappy-covered bum. He cries a little, startled but not hurt, and Zayn lets him whine it out as he greets Trev. As soon as his baby realises nothing is actually wrong, he’s pushing himself to his feet and toddling over to Zayn for a cuddle, his tears magically drying up.

“That’s my little lad,” Zayn says, taking a knee and wrapping his arms around Tar in a hug. Niall sets his guitar back in its case and grabs the Chinese, heading off to the kitchen. Zayn kisses Tar’s dark, wavy locks before he stands again. He takes off the rest of his cold weather gear and stores it by the front door before heading for the toilet, his little ducklings following him through the flat. He hears Niall getting plates down and ready as he steps across the hallway to his room, intent on changing out of his work clothes.

“I think-“ Trev starts to say but is interrupted by Tariq attempting to scale the curtains covering the window above Zayn’s bed. “Tar, no,” Trev says. Zayn grabs him before he can pull too hard, picking off his hands finger by finger and setting him on the bed.

“You’re in a bit of a mood,” Zayn notes calmly when Tar protests the disgrace by shouting and pushing Zayn’s hands away. Tar doesn’t respond, just crawls up to Zayn’s pillow and burrows underneath them, tugging at the comforter until he’s mostly covered. “Yeah, go to bed,” Zayn teases, making Trevor laugh.

“I think I want to wear a tie when- when I grow up,” Trev continues, pulling off his glasses and rubbing at one of his eyes.

“You want to wear a tie?” Zayn asks. “Like baba does?”

“Like Uncle Harry when he- when he goes to- to work in the car room.”

“Court room,” Zayn corrects him. “Baba wears ties, too.”

“Uncle Harry’s are better,” Trev says.

Tar utters a quiet ‘yea’ from his bundle but it sounds sleepy and half-formed.

“I like mine,” Zayn protests. “You picked out this one for me, do you remember?” He tugs at the end of the blue and silver tie, a father’s day gift Harry had helped his sons buy.

Trev glances at it. “That one is okay,” he decides.

“Just okay?” Zayn asks, getting a nod in response. “Okay, then. Tar, you hungry?” he asks but Tariq just burrows further under his hideaway and Zayn doesn’t push him. He just herds Trev out, letting Tar take a nap in Zayn’s room. It wouldn’t be the first time, and Zayn is fairly confident it wouldn’t be the last, either.

The smell of the Chinese is even stronger now that it’s out of the discarded paper bag and sitting in semi-opened containers in a row on the counter. Niall is always meticulous, so each container has a cover over it but isn’t closed, and they’re lined up by size with the sole exception of the gravy for the pint of almond chicken Zayn’s always craving.

“What do you wanna eat?” he asks Trev, picking him up and putting him on the counter. He grabs a plate for Trev and a bowl for himself, spooning out the food Trev deems acceptable, taking care to keep the different options from mixing too much in the middle. He puts Trev back on the floor and lets him carry his own glass of water to the table, helping him set it carefully on its coaster before he climbs up onto the chair and starts eating pieces of his lunch with his fingers.

With his own meal, Zayn is much less careful. He spoons a large portion of white rice into the bottom of his bowl before topping it with pieces of breaded chicken, a few of sweet and sour chicken for an extra kick, and a spoonful of the fried rice. Niall grins when he looks up and sees what Zayn’s doing, mouthing ‘Trev would freak’ and hiding a laugh by taking a sip of his water.

Zayn and Niall settle into an easy conversation, catching each other up on how their week had been. Zayn’s half-day schedule on Fridays means he doesn’t need a sitter in the evenings and it isn’t worth paying Miss Julie’s day rate for only a few hours. Niall works the evenings at a popular club in nearby Inwood, either behind the bar or as the house DJ depending on the night. He’s been watching the boys on Fridays for just over six months or so, never asking for or accepting anything from Zayn besides a lunch spread and solid gratitude.

Zayn doesn’t know what he’s done in this or a past life to have earned himself such wonderful friends.

Tar comes into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes. “Hungee,” he says and Zayn gets up quickly to make him a bowl of rice and chow mein noodles, cutting them small enough for Tar to eat. He pulls Tar’s high chair between him and Trev and helps him get started before turning back to his own plate.

“How’s your project coming along at work?” Niall asks, picking up the conversation again. Zayn tells him about his ideas and how Ned shoots them down every time, the two of them bashing him good naturedly for a few moments.

Trev finishes eating first but sits quietly. He’s always been patient for his age- sometimes more patient than his father, if Zayn is being honest- and Zayn’s about to thank him for being good when he catches him giving chunks of chicken and the peas from his fried rice to Jasper where he stalks under the table. The gray cat blinks slowly at Zayn when he peeks under the table, clearly unconcerned, and Trev just giggles when he’s caught.

“The cats have their own lunches, Trevor Amir,” Zayn reminds but he can’t help smiling at the same time.

Tar mimics his older brother, as always, picking up some of his small noodles and dropping them on the floor, the food making a soft _plop_ against the hardwood. Niall tries to hide his giggles but he’s completely unsuccessful and Zayn shakes his head before getting on his knee and cleaning the mess with his napkin. Jasper, who doesn’t typically care for the youngest Malik after Tar tugged at his bushy tail one too many times, edges towards the baby and licks his bare toes. When Zayn gets back out from under the table, he sighs when he sees Tar pushing his food around. “Since neither of you are eating,” he says, wiping his hands on his joggers, “you’re both excused. Go play.” He helps Tar down from his chair, watching as Jasper takes off with a flash and the boys follow him with interest.

Keeping the full napkin to the side, he digs back into his chicken and rice mix. Niall sets down his fork, the _clink_ of it against his dish registering somewhere in the back of Zayn’s head before Niall clears his throat and asks, “Are you and Harry together?”

Zayn’s truly proud of himself for not choking on his food at that.

“I don’t care, obviously,” Niall says quickly, looking concerned as Zayn feels his face growing warm. A similar blush curls at Niall’s cheeks. “I can’t… well, I can’t help but be a little curious after what I walking in on this morning. Sorry about that, by the way,” he adds.

“Don’t be,” Zayn says. He’s trying for casual but he thinks his voice is coming out a little too high. “S’what I gave you a key for, after all.”

“You did that so you wouldn’t have to wake up and let me in,” he counters with good cheer. “I shouldn’t have asked,” he continues. “The boys asked me if I was going to be sleeping over tonight the way Harry had last night.”

“Oh boy.”

“You and Harry will figure it out on your own, I won’t pry. And you know he’s good with and for the boys, at least. Don’t have to worry about that.”

“About- what?” Zayn asks, mind reeling.

“You know. The whole ‘when do I tell this guy I’m dating that I have two kids’ thing couple with the ‘when do I tell my two kids about this guy I’m dating’ thing.”

“Haven’t had to worry about that,” Zayn shrugs.

“Well, yeah. You’ve got Harry.”

“It’s not what you think, I promise,” Zayn says, though he doesn’t outright deny it like he knows he should. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe confess to Niall everything that’s happening with Cassie, but he decides he doesn’t want to stress any more of his friends out over something they can’t control, so he shoves a bite of food in to cover his awkward hesitation.

“You lads will figure it out,” Niall repeats, standing and taking his bowl over to the sink.

Zayn watches as Niall rinses his dish, squirting soap onto a sponge and swiping at the porcelain in four complete, clockwise circles before rinsing it twice more and setting it in the drying rack. He’s always been a bit superstitious and he’s recently found a combination of numbers that he swears is keeping him in luck. He has to do any activity a specific number of times before he can move onto the next number in the sequence.

It’s endearing, Zayn thinks. It probably bothers Niall to no end, though. “You playing tonight?” he asks, scraping his bowl and lifting it to his mouth to get the last bites of fried rice and sweet and sour sauce.

“Yep.”

“Bressie gonna be there?”

“Yep.”

Zayn grins, hearing the nervous tone in Niall’s voice through the single syllable. “I take it you guys are ‘off’ right now, then?”

“…yep,” Niall says, placing the hand rag back on the counter and turning around, crossing his arms and twisting his mouth in a half-grin, half-grimace. “I’m nervous, isn’t that stupid?”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Not since I left him last time.”

Zayn mimics his expression. “Oh, right,” he drags out the word. “Didn’t you leave him after…”

“Yeah.”

“While he was still in his bed?”

Niall nods. “Thanks for the trip down memory lane,” he says, though there’s no heat in it.

“You don’t have to take him back, you know,” Zayn counsels but Niall waves off his concern.

“It’s not the best situation,” Niall admits, cheeks and neck growing dark pink. “I don’t know, though. There’s just something there.”

“There always has been,” Zayn says, standing from the table and bringing his dishes to the sink. “You and Brez have always had something.”

“I just think it will just… _click_ for us one day but it hasn’t yet. I’m just always nervous he’s going to show up with a date this time and that’ll be it for us.”

“Bressie wouldn’t do that,” Zayn assures him. “He’s gone for you and he would never do anything to hurt you. If he ever… well, if he ever did give up this dance he’d probably tell you first.”

“It’s always worth it when we do come back together,” Niall says, wiggling his brows and smirking when Zayn laughs. “I better head out, actually. I’m going to help them prep and setup for tonight. Are you coming out with us on Sunday?”

Zayn snorts, walking back to the table and grabbing the plates the boys had been using. He’s never once come out with the boys on Sunday, and Niall knows this. They like to pick random sports bars around the city to watch the Sunday night gridiron games. Zayn had initially teased the boys about losing their patriotism but then had once pointed out that that their football was always aired too early in America for drinking to be acceptable and Zayn had finally relented though he had still declined any and all invitations.

“I don’t have anyone to watch the boys,” he says. “And-“ he continues when Niall opens his mouth- “I don’t feel comfortable taking them to a bar. Not _even_ -“ he says, holding up his palm when Niall makes to speak again- “if we go to a restaurant that also _has_ a bar; the noise of a busy Sunday afternoon surrounded by football fans would be a lot for Trev.” _And for me_ , he thinks to himself.

“Valid points, all of ‘em,” Niall agrees, just like he always does when they have this conversation on Friday afternoons before he leaves. “I’ll see you next week then, at least. Call if you need anything.”

They hug before Niall leaves, Niall pressing a wet kiss to his cheek casually before leaving the kitchen. Unlike Harry’s kiss, Niall’s kiss is gone from Zayn’s mind the second his lips leave Zayn’s cheek. Zayn hears him saying his goodbyes to the boys before he hears the sound of the front door opening and closing.

His phone buzzes with a text in his pocket just as he’s drying off the rest of the dishes. He wipes his hands and digs it out, flipping it open and frowning when he sees Harry’s name. He glances at the clock to make sure he hasn’t severely lost track of the time but, yep, Harry should definitely be in class right now.

_liam's available tomorrow. we can meet somewhere with the kids. after breakfast okay?_

Nerves tighten in his stomach and he feels like he can’t swallow for a moment. Zayn knows this is important- knows Harry is probably even texting him right now so Zayn can get back to him before the end of his class, but the thought of responding makes sweat break out on Zayn’s temples and he puts the phone down instead.

Wanting to get as far from the source of his stress as possible, Zayn leaves it behind in the kitchen and heads out into the living room. Jasper is nosing around Tar’s discarded trousers, Zayn’s baby never one to wear clothes if he doesn’t feel there’s a worthy enough reason. Zayn settles onto the floor next to Trev, fingering through the pile of Lego blocks and helping him build a tower.

“You know,” Zayn says, picking up a couple spare blocks. “You can make an arch if you lay them like this.” He demonstrates, locking the blocks together by just barely overlapping them and then doing the same a few more times before forming the other base for the arch.

“No,” Trev says, barely paying attention.

“No? Why ‘no’?”

“I can do it myself.”

“You don’t want baba to help you anymore?”

“No, thank you.”

Zayn sighs, frowning at his partial arch before setting it down and scooting away. Jasper is still sniffing and paying at Tar’s trouser pocket and Zayn heads closer to look. He crouches down and tugs the denim away from the cat, getting a disgruntled meow in reply. “Hush, you,” he whispers.

In hindsight, sticking his hand in the pocket was probably a stupid decision.

Cold, slimy chow mein noodles and sauce coat his fingers when he pulls out his hand. He looks over at Tar where he’s playing with his stuffed toys. Zayn straightens and crosses the room before taking a knee.

“Did you do this, Tariq?” he asks, his voice soft. Tar looks at him before looking at the bits of lunch in his baba’s hands. He smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Zayn sighs. Tar reaches up a hand but Zayn moves his away before Tar can touch the food. “No.”

Tar pouts, looking between Zayn’s face and hand in confusion. “I want,” he says.

“You put this in your pocket?”

Tar nods.

“Why?”

Tar sighs and discards his toys, standing up shakily by pushing off from the floor and grabbing at Zayn’s knee to steady himself. When he’s firm on his feet, he reaches for the noodles again. “Want,” he repeats.

“I know you want it, beta. Why did you eat your lunch before?”

“Baba, gimme.”

“No, we eat lunch at the table,” Zayn says, standing and returning to Tar’s discarded clothes, shooing the gray cat away and picking them up. He folds the small trousers carefully to keep the pocket upright. He feels two little hands grab at either side of his knee.

“Baba, ‘s mine.”

“It was yours,” Zayn agrees. “But you didn’t eat it so baba needs to throw it away.”

“Why?”

“Because we eat at the table only,” Zayn repeats. “You’ll be okay until dinner.”

“But-” Tar protests, pressing his face to the back of Zayn’s leg. “Baba, I hungree.”

“No, baby, you aren’t.”

Tar lets go of Zayn long enough for him to take a step away. He crosses the hallway from the living room, entering the cramped utility room. There’s no washer or dryer hookup but there’s a wash basin and Zayn throws away all of the noodles he can get before rinsing out the pocket and putting a stain treatment on the wet denim. He sets it to dry on top of the other dirty clothes, making a note that he’ll need to do laundry this weekend, and is just about finished when he hears the first of Tariq’s tears.

When he reenters the living room, Trev is trying to comfort Tar and get him to stop crying, offering him Legos and cat toys but Tar is in a mood. He pushes away everything his big brother hands him, repeating the word no.

“Tar, stop,” Zayn tries. A little piece of his own heart breaks whenever his sons are crying but he tells himself that Tar is just throwing a tantrum and his behavior shouldn’t be rewarded. It’s hard, though, when Tar sees him and starts crying harder even as he picks up his arms and begs to be held.

“Baba, I want,” he wails pathetically, cheeks wet and nose snotty.

“I think someone needs a real nap,” Zayn says, looking over to Trev after. “Do you want to come lay down with us?” he asks.

“No, but-” Trev hesitates before looking up at Tar and then looking back down. “Nothing.”

“No, babe, what is it?” Zayn asks.

“I want to build an ark now.”

His voice is quiet and small, as if he feels guilty for asking. Zayn bounces Tariq in his arms, ignoring his cries. “An arch?” Zayn asks. Trev nods. “Baba will help you. Let me put your brother down for a nap and I'll come back, okay?”

“Thank you,” Trev says, face splitting with the force of his grin. He pushes his glasses up his nose, though they slip forward as soon as he looks down at his Legos again.

“C’mon, beta,” Zayn whispers near Tariq’s ear, bouncing him again when his cries grow louder. “I don't think all of these tears are because of noodles.”

“I want,” Tar whines.

“You weren't hungry twenty minutes ago,” Zayn tries to reason. “You’ll be okay.”

“No.”

“I'm pretty sure you will.”

“I want ‘Arry,” Tar pouts, wriggling in Zayn's hold and starting to cry louder. “Where ‘Arry?”

“Uncle Harry isn't coming today, buddy,” Zayn says. “We’ll see him on Monday.”

“No, I want ‘Arry,” Tar repeats, his words nearing a shout. “I want ‘Arry, I want him.”

 _Me too_ , Zayn thinks for a moment, _but you don’t see me shouting like a fool._ He feels at a loss. He’s put up with plenty of tantrums from both of the boys but he’s never had one of them ask for someone else. It cuts like a knife and makes Zayn feel miserable; he’s always been enough for them and he doesn’t know how to handle this new development.

Suddenly remembering Harry’s text, Zayn curses quietly under his breath. The distraction of the toddler throwing a fit in his arms makes him forget his earlier unease and he detours into the kitchen instead of taking Tar to his bedroom. “Let’s call him, okay? We’ll call Uncle Harry and say a quick hello and then we’ll go take a nap.”

“Cawr on phone?” Tar asks, instantly growing quieter. He loves calling his grandma and grandpa in England on the phone and he wipes at his face when he sees Zayn’s mobile on the worktop. “Baba, cawr?”

“Yep, we’re going to call him. Hold on, let me grab it.”

“I do it,” Tar says, grabbing at the air in front of the phone.

“I’ll do it,” Zayn corrects. He gets a little louder, “Trev, can you come here? We’re going to call Uncle Harry.”

“I want to call him!” Trev shouts from the living room, the sound of his feet smacking on the hardwood following his words. “Baba, I want to do it!”

“You little baby dictators,” Zayn mutters, clicking the phone button and bringing it to his ear. “I already called him,” he says when Trev comes into the kitchen. “If he doesn’t pick up, we’ll leave a message, okay?”

“I want to ask him- I,” Trev starts, breathing hard. “I want to leave message.”

“We’ll see, hold on- Harry, hi!” he says, some of his anxiety lifting when Harry picks up.

“Hi! Hi!” Tar yells into the phone, Trev doing the same. Trev is tugging at Zayn’s jumper, trying to get him to lower his arm.

“Hi everyone!” Harry says. “What’s up?”

“I just got your message,” Zayn lies with a grimace. “And Tar was having a little bit of a baby mood so we called you before nap time. I hope that’s okay?”

“Of course it is,” Harry dismisses, a smile evident in his voice. “I love talking to my boys!”

“Uncle Harry, Uncle Harry, I built a whole castle,” Trev yells, standing on his tiptoes. “Baba helped,” he adds at the end. Zayn smirks about the faux credit.

“Wow, that’s amazing. Send me a picture, okay?”

Zayn relays the information as Tariq brings his mouth as close to the phone as he can reach.

“Unc’ Arry, noodos,” he says, shouting like a banshee.

“Tar, quieter,” Zayn says, pulling the phone away to help rescue Harry’s ears.

“Noodos,” Tar says. His tears are dry on his cheeks now, eyes and nose red and mouth puffy from his earlier tantrum. He’s on the edge of it now. If Zayn keeps his mood up, he can probably completely avoid a relapse until he puts Tariq to sleep.

“What about noodles?” Harry asks when Zayn brings the phone back to his ear and apologises for the volume.

“He squirreled some away in case he was starving later but the cat narc’d on him. Sorry, I didn’t even ask, are we keeping you from class?”

Harry hesitates for a quick second. “I stepped out,” he admits. “But it’s not a big deal, we’re just doing group work. I wanted to hear from you.”

“Harry,” Zayn says, biting down on a grin.

“I’ll only stay another minute,” Harry promises. “Are you okay with meeting up tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course. I can ask Julie to watch them, though, if that would make it easier.”

“Liam suggested bringing his daughter and doing something with the kids. He has your paperwork now so he can look over it tonight.”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says. He knows that he is a bit shy but Trevor and Tariq are twice as bad. It makes it hard to force them to be social when he has such trouble with it himself. But he doesn’t fancy the thought of calling in any favors with Julie, never knows when he may actually need one, and he trusts Harry to be extroverted enough to make up for any awkwardness.

It really, honestly boils down to the simple fact that he trusts Harry. More than he worries about the social setting, he trusts his best mate to take care of them. If Harry thinks Zayn needs to meet with Liam, Zayn will do it. It doesn’t matter the setting.

“We’ll do it,” he agrees. “Sorry, yes, of course we will. Whatever you and Liam think is best, we’ll be there.”

“Baba, did you tell him about my castle?” Trev asks, stretching out the hem on Zayn’s jumper.

“You told him, beta,” Zayn reminds. “We’re going to take a picture and send it to Harry.”

“If your flip phone can handle that,” Harry teases.

“I’ll flip something,” Zayn says nonsensically.

He realises Tar’s been quiet for an entire thirty seconds. When he glances down, he sees his baby tucked against his chest, thumb in his mouth and eyes closed. His lashes flutter against his chubby cheeks.

“Tar’s sleeping, finally,” Zayn says. “Thank you for stepping out, I honestly didn’t know what to do. He was asking for you.”

“He was? I can-” Harry pauses. “I can come by?”

“You have school,” Zayn dismisses.

“After, then. I’ll stop at home and get a bag together and then I’ll bring dinner.”

“Harry, no.”

“It’s no trouble,” Harry protests.

“I mean,” Zayn pretends to hesitate. “Yes, please.”

Harry laughs and promises to pick up something the boys will like before saying goodbye to Trev and going back to class.

Zayn puts Tar down in his crib. He sits him up and tugs his t-shirt over his head, knowing how warm he’ll get if he leaves it on. Trev had followed him into the room, talking a mile a minute about his castle and the ‘ark’ they’re going to build, and Zayn leads him back out with the tips of his fingers against his shoulder.

“What colour do you want the arch?” he asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor and letting Trev crawl into his lap. He rests his cheek on Trev’s blonde curls, taking a small sniff. Trevor hasn’t had the stereotypical baby smell in a while but his shampoo and conditioner are still soothing scents for Zayn.

Trev picks purple and blue for the arch and Zayn shows him how he connected the pieces, letting himself rest his head back against the couch when Trev picks it up. He reaches behind him, pulling out a piece of Lego he’s been sitting on, before relaxing and closing his eyes for a tiny, little nap.

 

 

Zayn wakes up the next morning wrapped around Harry again. It’s something he thinks he can get used to, especially when he buries his frozen nose into Harry’s warm throat and Harry snuffles in response, half-heartedly pulling away.

“No, it’s cold,” Zayn whimpers, following him. He doesn’t know how Harry can be warm like a furnace right now, especially since he went to bed without a shirt on the night before. “Come back.”

“No, you’re cold,” Harry mimics. “I’m warm and toasty over here.”

Zayn pouts, pushing himself up so he’s reclining back on his elbows. “This is bullshit. It was summer two seconds ago and now there’s a polar vortex hanging over New York.”

“Aww, poor Zaynie doesn’t like the cold.”

“You do?” Zayn challenges.

“Sure. I like making snowmen and drinking hot chocolate and-”

“I’m not making snowmen in _bed_ ,” Zayn counters. “It shouldn’t be cold in _here_.”

“Oh, you’re a big baby,” Harry teases as he stands up. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“C’mon, I’ll go get the boys.”

“Harry, it’s- it’s too early to go out.” Zayn’s not a fan of this plan. He glances at his alarm radio. Not even seven o’clock.

Harry ignores him as he steps out of the room.

Grumbling, Zayn rolls off the bed and onto his feet, pouting down at the floor when he feels how cold it is. He pulls on a pair of thick socks first, wriggling his toes in the warm relief before digging out his nicest pair of skinnies and a black wool jumper.

The smell of coffee coaxes him out of the room a minute later and he pauses in the doorway to the kitchen when he sees what’s inside. Somehow, in the time it took him to get dressed and take a quick wee, Harry has gotten both Trev and Tar up, dressed and seated at the kitchen table. He’s making eggs at the hob and humming along to the radio that sits on a shelf near the sink and that only Harry ever turns on. The coffee maker is only midway through but there are two mugs, milk and the sugar dish already set out.

“It’s been like five seconds,” Zayn says. He might be in the Twilight Zone.

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” Harry counters. “Plus, the boys were excited when I told them where we were going this morning so they both helped me get the dressed and even fed the cats. Isn’t that right boys?”

“We helped,” Trev agrees, yawning and stretching but looking smiley and clean in his favorite pair of purple trousers and a black jumper not unlike the one Zayn is wearing.

When Zayn glances at the corner of the kitchen where the cats eat, he sees exactly how they ‘helped’. Jasper and Sawyer are eating out of a bowl that’s overflowing with dry kibble, a mess spilling out over the sides and onto the tray underneath specifically placed to catch any spillage. “I see that, good job,” Zayn says, making a mental note to pick up the food after another minute and spray for ants when he can lock the cats out of the kitchen.

“They were so excited about helping that Trev lifted the bag too high at the bottom and Tar didn’t know how to stop it,” Harry confides in a low voice when Zayn steps up next to him to start prepping his mug.

Zayn nods as he adds a generous amount of milk, ignoring the outraged sound Harry always makes, and a spoonful of sugar, mixing them together before lifting the nearly-finished pot of coffee and pouring it over the base until it’s near the rim.

“You’re terrible,” Harry says, reaching around him to wipe up the few drops of coffee that have hit the burner. “Go sit down, the eggs are almost done.”

“Bossy,” Zayn comments, sipping quietly from his mug as he heads over to take his seat at the table. He sets down his coffee before remembering the cats, standing up again and lifting their bowl back into their food cupboard. They settle on the spilled pieces like Zayn had planned for and he returns to the table. “Morning, beta,” he says, kissing both boys. “Where are we going?”

“Surprise!” Tar shouts, giggling into his hands.

Zayn grins crookedly at him. “Surprise?”

“I told them it was a surprise for you so you wouldn’t spoil it for yourself. Now shush and eat your eggs.” Harry says, setting down a plate in front of Zayn. For once, Zayn listens.

 

 

Fifty minutes later, they’re pulling up to a…

“A cider mill?” Zayn asks, feeling how wide his eyes are. He had wondered what was happening when Harry led them to his car. There’s very few places Zayn ever needs to go in the city in a car. He still hasn’t gotten his license, that’s how unusual it would be for him to drive. But Harry had been excited about the secret and the boys had gone along with it, so Zayn had just settled into the passenger seat and watched the changing fall leaves as they drove out of the city.

“Cider mill!” Tariq and Trevor shout from the back. Zayn’s surprised at the level of enthusiasm, simply because he's willing to bet neither of his babies have ever heard of a cider mill outside of whatever Harry told them this morning. He’s certainly never taken them, as the drive alone is torture, and he has only been to one himself when he was living with Harry before Trev was born.

“Why?” Zayn asks, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Because it's been a rough couple of days for you,” Harry says. “You need to have a good day.”

“You’ve been coddling me since we found out,” Zayn protests. “I haven’t had time to be upset.”

“Good.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and stops protesting, getting out of the car and helping Tar from his car seat while Harry tackles the over complicated booster they had graduated Trevor to.

“Zoo!” Tar says, pointing at something over Zayn’s shoulder.

“Cider mill,” he corrects gently.

“No, zoo,” Harry says, nodding and indicating the small petting zoo in front of the cider house that Zayn finally sees when he turns around. “Tar is excited to pet a goat.”

“I’m sure,” Zayn says, keeping his opinion on that to himself. Tar is afraid of most animals he sees- barely handles being near Jasper and Sawyer- and a goat in real life would probably give him a baby heart attack. But Harry and the boys look so excited that Zayn can’t bear to ruin their hopes.

“Let’s get cider and donuts, first?” Harry suggests, possibly reading Zayn’s thoughts.

“Zoo! I want!” Tar protests, wiggling in Zayn’s hold.

Zayn looks over to Harry with  shrug. “It wouldn’t hurt to do that first,” he says, trying to telepathically communicate ‘get it out of their systems.’

He isn’t sure if Harry picks it up but he agrees nonetheless and they head over to the small corral that holds a number of sheep, goats and even an alpaca. Trev hesitates, lifting a hand to hook onto Harry’s trouser belt loop.

“Big,” he says.

“Kitty,” Tar says, turning in Zayn’s hold to look at the animals. He’s only ever been around their cats and tends to think all animals are ‘kitties’. “Big kitty.”

“That’s a goat, baby,” Zayn says, putting Tar down. His feet touch the dirt but he doesn’t let go of Zayn’s hands so Zayn crouches down to allow Tar stand between his knees. Zayn lets one hand fall so he can grab onto the fence and stay upright.

“Kitty,” Tar says again, ignoring Zayn’s input.

“Tar, baba said it’s a goat,” Trev corrects, both hands on Zayn’s knee as he watches the animals warily.

Trevor lifts one hand to push his glasses up his nose and the movement attracts the attention of one of the littlest goats. She’s black with white near her ears, a pink tongue flicking out for a second before she starts nosing at the fence and turning her head, eyes seemingly locked on Trev. Trev backs up a step, his back pressed tight to Harry’s shins. His hazel eyes are wide in fear behind his lenses and he turns to bury his face in Harry’s knee.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Harry comforts him, crouching down to mirror Zayn’s position. Trev puts his arms around Harry’s neck and shakes his head when Harry tries to turn him around. “There’s a fence, they can’t get to you. Don’t you want to show Tar how brave you are?” Trev shakes his head again.

“Baba, I scared,” Tar says, watching his brother’s reaction and mimicking it.

“I don’t think you should be,” Zayn says. “She’s just a very little goat, just like you.”

“I not writtle,” Tar insists, looking up at Zayn and then back at the goat.

“Show us, then,” Harry says, drawing Tar’s gaze. “Do what I do.” Harry lifts one hand from Trev’s back, stretching his fingers out and pressing his palm flat to the fence. The little goat sniffs at his palm, tongue making contact at least once, before she butts her head against the spot on the fence Harry is touching. Tar laughs and mimics Harry, holding out his own hand and giggling shrilly when the goat licks his palm.

“Trevor, look,” Zayn coaxes. “The goat is nice.”

Trev turns his head but doesn’t pull away from the safety of Harry’s chest right away. He watches them with a frown.

“It’s okay, beta,” Zayn assures him. “Follow what Uncle Harry is doing, you’ll be okay.”

Trev looks at his hand for a second with a pout as if he’s saying goodbye before stretching it out and placing it just under Harry’s own, closing his eyes. The tension in his arm is visible, as is the flinch when the goat’s nose makes the briefest contact with Trev’s skin.

“Trev, it okay,” Tar says, toddling closer to his brother and trying to get the goat’s attention again. He slips his whole fist through the fence before Zayn can stop him, and the goat thinks his wiggling fingers are treats. With interest, the goat nibbles at the tip of Tar’s fingers, his lips feeling out the skin. Tariq snatches his hand back to his chest. “Bad kitty.”

Trev laughs but takes his hand down all the same, reaching out for Tar. He inspects Tariq’s hand carefully and smacks a kiss to the small red line indicating where the teeth had touched. “All better,” Trev pronounces.

Tar doesn’t cry but he does look at his hand before turning into Zayn’s chest. “Kitty bite,” Tar says with a pout.

“I think we’ve reached our petting zoo limit,” Harry sighs, wiggling his own fingers and laughing when the goat gives his digits the same treatment.

“Uncle Harry, no!” Trev says, grabbing Harry’s wrist with both his hands and pulling. “She’ll bite you, too.”

“Oh, thank you,” Harry says, letting Trev take his hand in his own. He stands, knees creaking, and Zayn follows suit. Tar lifts his arms for Zayn to pick him up and Zayn obliges, curling an arm under Tar’s bum and letting him snuggle into his chest as they walk away from the animals.

“Bye, kitty,” Tar says, waving one of his hands.

“It’s a goat,” Zayn mutters with a kiss to Tar’s scalp as they approach the old barn repurposed into a cider mill.

It’s surprising to see a line formed already at this early of an hour. Zayn tends to forget that some people like getting up early. It’s a long line but it moves at a somewhat continuous pace. Trev stands for part of it before tugging at Zayn’s puffy jacket. “I want up,” he says, pouting and letting his head hang back. His glasses shift with his movements, pressing up high on the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll hold you,” Harry offers, but Zayn had seen the way he’d twinged when he had lifted Trev from his car seat and had heard the sound his knees made when he stood at the petting zoo. Zayn intervenes even as Trev pouts and tugs at Zayn’s jacket again, insisting.

“Tar can stand for a bit.” Zayn sets Tar down on his feet, watching as his baby reaches a hand up to grip the edge of his trouser pocket. His eyes are wide as he looks around at the other people and children in the line around them, though he doesn’t seem to be feeling too shy. Zayn bends and lifts Trevor into his arms, letting his older boy wrap himself around Zayn’s torso. Trev is definitely the shyer of the two so Zayn doesn’t mind that he’s getting a bit too big to be carried; he’ll be his son’s shield as long as Trev will let him.

“Beautiful family,” the lady in line in front of them says to Harry, smiling at them all.

Zayn opens his mouth to correct her, feeling caught off-guard, but Harry steps closer to him and puts a soothing hand on his lower back. “Thank you,” he says, his voice gruff and warm. Zayn hears the smile in his tone before he even looks up to him. Tar is between them, holding onto their legs with one hand each, Harry looks down to meet Zayn’s gaze, and Zayn suddenly realises that they do look like a family, right now. They look like a happy one, too.

By the time he looks forward again, the woman is already stepping up in the line and placing her own order. “Thanks for that,” Zayn murmurs. “I always feel awkward when strangers talk about the boys.”

“I know,” Harry says with a grin, rubbing his hand in wide circles against Zayn’s coat. Zayn leans in a little closer, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, intending it to be just for a second. The line isn’t moving just yet, though, the orders being placed seem to be on the larger side, and Harry’s hand slips under the layers of his jacket and jumper to repeat the motions over the thin cotton of his undershirt.

It’s relaxing, and Zayn feels himself melting a little by the time they have an opening at a register. He shifts Trev’s weight so he has an arm free, pulling his wallet from his back pocket before Harry can attempt to pay. “I got this,” he insists. “I’m not letting you pay for us. You bought dinner last night.”

Harry accepts his decision gracefully, taking the gallon of cider they buy and the dozen donuts before leading them out of the mill. Tar doesn’t let him get too far, his left hand flat to Harry’s calf. Harry adjusts his stride so Tar doesn’t fall behind and they head over to a picnic table before settling around it.

“Oh, shoot, I forgot cups,” Harry says, frowning.

Zayn stands up before he can. “I’ll get some, you stay,” he orders with a grin. He dashes past the people coming out of the shop, grabbing a stack of cups and lids with a smile and quick thanks for the employee that’s the closest to him.

There’s someone near Harry and his boys when he comes back out into the cold, a fit lad a little older than them. He has a little girl with him, a pretty girl with brown curls and big, brown eyes. She watches as Zayn approaches, a permanent smile on her face as she holds the hand of who must be her dad. Zayn manages a smile in response to her but can’t stop the unease he feels when he sees how hard Harry laughs at something the man says.

The only thing that stops his jealousy in its tracks is the way Harry’s expression changes when he looks over to find Zayn near. His smile shifts and grows softer, his eyes seem to brighten, and his posture straightens. His Malik Smile. “Zayn!” he says, voice bright as if he hasn’t seen him in ages. “C’mere.”

Zayn grins. “I’m here,” he says, slipping onto the bench next to Harry. Tar and Trev are sharing a donut quietly, eyeing the new people warily. “Who’s this, babe?” he asks, knowing that he’s being possessive over a boy that isn’t really his. He doesn’t stop himself, though, getting a hand on Harry’s knee and stroking his palm along his thigh subtly.

Harry’s eyes narrow, gaze turning quizzical, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he turns to the new lad and says, “This is Liam, my TA, and his daughter, Abigail.”

Zayn feels his cheeks flush, a fever instantly colouring his skin, and he takes his hand off of Harry’s thigh as if he’s been burned further. He extends his hand on reflex, shaking first Liam’s and then Abigail’s. “Hey, I- sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t clarify further.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Liam says, his daughter quickly repeating him. “I hope you don’t mind if we join you; I saw Harry over here and came to say hello. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“Last minute adventure,” Harry says, pouring cider carefully into the cups he’d taken off of Zayn. He places a lid on one and hands it to Trev. He grabs a bottle of water from his bag and waters down the second cup, putting on a lid and passing it to Tar. “Drink slowly,” he advises. “Take a bite of your donut and then take a sip, it’s the best.”

“I like to dip mine,” Abigail says to the boys with a smile. Trev turns red, the colour more apparent on his fairer skin, and he looks at Zayn and Harry in alarm.

“That’s a good idea, Abby,” Harry says. “Have you been to the petting zoo yet?”

“We weren’t sure if we should try, it looked a little crowded,” Liam says. “Did you?”

“The goats got a little too close,” Zayn says, feeling awkward when he realises Liam and his daughter are still standing. “Won’t you have a seat?”

Liam declines with a raised palm and a shake of his head. “We have to get going, actually. I’m taking Abby back to her mother’s house for girl’s day, right Abs?”

Abigail nods, brown hair bouncing and smile wide.

“Are we still meeting later?” Liam asks them. “To discuss your case.”

“Yeah, of course. Harry trusts you,” Zayn says, leaving the rest unspoken. Liam nods and they shake hands again before he and Abigail wave goodbye and head off, their leftover donuts in a bag clutched tight in Liam’s free hand.

“I’m sorry about that,” Harry says in a low tone. “We talked about cider mills the other day but I didn’t know he was going to be here this morning. I just wanted to take you boys somewhere nice.”

“You did,” Zayn insists, scooting even closer to Harry and wrapping an arm around his waist over his peacoat. “I’m sorry I’m so awkward around new people,” he laughs. “Liam seems nice and I’m glad I got to meet him. It’ll make me less nervous for the meeting this afternoon. Should we still bring the boys?”

Harry lifts an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and rests his cheek on his hair. “We can. I can stay back and watch them, though.”

“I need you,” Zayn protests again.

He feels Harry’s face shift with a smile. “Let’s call Julie,” Harry says. With that said, he hands Zayn a donut and they spend the next half hour munching on their treats and sipping at their ciders, watching the boys inch closer and closer to the petting zoo before Tar braves it and places his palm flat to the fence like Harry had shown him.

 

 

The little café Harry chose is the perfect balance between noisy and quiet, busy and calm. There’s a steady stream of customers coming in the door, the little bell at the top ringing out every few moments, and a radio station is playing over the speakers. It must be the only station in town that isn’t yet playing Christmas music, as the first week of November in New York is somehow synonymous with the start of holiday music and frenzy, and Zayn lets himself focus on the lyrics of an acoustic rock song while he and Harry wait for Liam to show.

His incessant tapping at the table must be annoying Harry because his hand folds over Zayn’s against the wood, his large palm warm against Zayn’s knuckles. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “It’s just Liam. You’ve already met him, he’s like a teddy bear.”

Zayn smiles. “A teddy bear?”

“Yeah, all cuddly and non-threatening. Haven’t you ever seen one before? I know I’ve gotten the boys plenty.”

“I’ve seen them,” Zayn teases, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know about the analogy, though; the one from the third _Toy Story_ was pretty vicious.”

Harry frowns at him, linking their fingers and tugging at his hold. “Liam is not a murderous bear,” he insists, with a playful pout.

“Liam’s not a bear at all,” a voice next to them says.

Zayn startles and slips his hand away, looking up and flushing under Liam’s smile.

“I beg to differ,” Harry says without missing a beat, standing and pulling Liam into a hug before scooting a seat to the side so Liam can sit next to Zayn. “The cuddliest of teddy bears.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” Liam says with a pink flush to his own cheeks as he glances over to Zayn, who shakes his hand. He’s never been great at being playful with anyone he isn’t close with, though Liam does seem to be unthreatening.

Zayn’s silence drags on to the point of awkwardness but Liam doesn’t act like he minds. He keeps eye contact with Zayn for a long moment before his smile grows and he finally looks away.

“Shall we get started on the case, then?” he asks the table at large.

“Yes, please,” Zayn says. Harry clears his throat and pulls his notebook from the messenger bag he always carries. Liam does the same, pulling out a sleek, thin laptop and two large, black folders from his own bag. Zayn sips nervously at his tea before setting it out of the way. “What’s the game plan?”

For the first time in the scarce handful of minutes that Zayn has known him, Liam looks completely serious. There’s no hint of a smile around his mouth but his eyes are still big and warm when he meets Zayn’s gaze dead-on.

“It’s a lot of nonsense, the suit,” Liam says, reaching out to touch the tips of his fingers to Zayn’s arm. “Your ex-wife-“

“Just girlfriend,” Zayn corrects, flinching under Liam’s intense gaze and glancing over at Harry, whose expression is unreadable and intense in his own way. His eyes seem to dart to Liam’s hand once or twice before he lifts his head and smiles encouragingly to Zayn.

“Sorry, your ex-girlfriend seems to think her best bet at getting back the children is to start a smear campaign against you. I’m not going to lie, it’s effective on paper. She paints a picture of you as an underqualified father.”

Zayn frowns and fidgets but Liam lifts his hand, palm out, in an effort to appease him.

“We can fight it,” Liam says. “A lot of Cassie’s information is exaggerated and none of it is from the last two years. She doesn’t mention why she chose to sign away her custody to you. The law is usually biased towards the mother but, as the primary caregiver for most of Trevor and all of Tariq’s life, the law will be biased for you.”

“It’s going to be okay, Zee,” Harry says from his other side, having scooted another chair over to be closer to Zayn. “I promise you: Liam is amazing. I wouldn’t have asked him to help if I didn’t think it would work.”

Zayn resists the urge he feels to fling himself into Harry’s arms and hide his face the way Trev did when the goat scared him. He knows Harry would let him, knows that Harry would comfort him and whisper soothing things to him and would hold him until Zayn was brave enough to step back. But Zayn also knows that he’s too old for that now. He did that already, by running to Harry when Trev was first born. He’s not going to let himself take advantage of Harry’s compassion again.

“I don’t know-“ Zayn starts to say, nodding reassuringly at Harry before turning in his seat to face Liam head-on. “We never talked about money. I don’t know what your rate is.”

“It’s not- it’s covered, actually,” Harry says, his words hesitant.

“If you tell me you paid for this,” Zayn starts, shifting back to look at Harry with narrowed eyes.

“The school did!” Harry says quickly. He speaks faster than Zayn’s almost ever heard him speak before as he explains. “The school sponsors certain cases every semester. With my TA- Liam- and my professor writing recommendations for this case, and me serving on it, the school foots the bill. The burden of payment largely falls on Cassie anyway; the cost of filing paperwork and all of that is on her. All you would generally be responsible for is the fees your lawyer charges. Liam’s agreed to handle your case _pro bono_ and the school is paying for any associated costs.”

Zayn feels his frown lessen though he knows his face is still flushed with the embarrassment that talking about finances always brings up. He isn’t completely skint by any means but he had just recently started making enough money to begin saving for the boys’ future. He hadn’t been sure how much of a hit his savings would take with this lawsuit and he’s relieved to hear Harry’s news, even if it makes him uncomfortable.

When he doesn’t respond right away, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Liam and Harry’s uni would be willing to help a complete stranger, Harry grins hard enough to dimple and scoots a fraction closer. “And,” he says, drawing out the word, “working on this case with Liam gets me credit towards my degree. So. You’re helping me out, too.”

Like always, Harry’s charm works easily on Zayn. He smiles and reaches out a hand, patting Harry’s knee.

“A lot of people need help sometimes, Zayn,” Liam says, drawing Zayn’s focus. “Columbia helped with my case when Abby was born. You wouldn’t believe how much lawyers charge to try cases like this because they know how much parents are willing to spend for their children; the _pro bono_ aspect just cuts out through the middle and makes the most important aspect shine through. Plus, like Harry said, the experience helps us towards our degrees. I’m working on my masters and this experience and _win_ ,” he says, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes narrow in determination, “are going to look great on my transcript and resume.”

“You’re doing us a favor, Zee,” Harry says gently.

Zayn looks between Harry and Liam, unnerved to see mirrored expressions of steely resolve. “Not quite the same level of ‘favor’, mate,” Zayn says, though his heart rate does begin to even out.

Liam smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lets out a laugh. “Depends on how you look at it.”

Zayn relaxes in his seat, settling back into a more comfortable position. He’s a bit uncomfortable with both of their attentions fixed on him, so he grabs one of the pens Liam set out. Sometimes, his anxiety quells if he has something on which to focus his nervous energy. He begins twirling the pen between his fingers.

“So,” he says, “how do we fight this?”

Liam’s instantly back to a serious persona. Gone again is the earnest, wide-eyed lad. He sits straighter and shuffles some papers in a purposeful manner. “First,” he begins, “we need to make your case for you. Her argument is very much about your supposed shortcomings as a primary caregiver. We need to show why you are fit to keep your custody of your sons.”

Zayn nods, scooting his chair closer to the table and leaning his elbows on the wood, looking over the paper Liam is sliding over. On it are a list of Cassie’s arguments, examples she’s given as to why Zayn shouldn’t have custody of their children. He frowns as he reads the words, hearing them in Harry’s tone from when he had summarized the paperwork for Zayn. The fact that anyone could say these things about him when he feels like he would bleed himself dry for his boys makes tears sting at the corners of his eyes. Having these words come from the mother of his sons just makes it worse.

“What do I do?” Zayn asks.

“You’re going to counter every single issue she’s listed with examples of how they’re inaccurate.”

“I don’t want to speak badly about her,” Zayn says. He isn’t always one to take the so-called ‘high road’ but he’s had too much love for Cassie over the course of their relationship and he can’t bring himself to attack her in court, no matter the scenario.

“You probably won’t have to,” Liam says.

“You _definitely_ won’t have to,” Harry says, narrowing his eyes at Liam for a moment. “Zayn isn’t going to bash the mother of his sons. Our boys aren’t going to have to grow up thinking their mother is some kind of monster.”

“Haz, it’s okay,” Zayn says, attempting to soothe him by rubbing his hand along Harry’s knee. He hadn’t realised he had left his free hand there but he draws calming circles on Harry’s kneecap for something to do. “I get it.”

“All I meant was,” Liam says, looking contrite, “is that you may need to call into question her absence from these boys’ lives. It isn’t uncommon for parents to sue for more custody, of course, but for a mother to disappear for almost two years and show up out of the blue trying for full physical custody… that’s a bit unusual. Why now? Where has she been?”

Zayn nods. “I understand. I don’t want to attack but I do see the need to ask some questions.”

Liam looks relieved. “I didn’t mean to imply we’d be cutthroat or anything but, I mean, we do want to keep your custody of the boys, right?”

Zayn quirks a brow, unsure of how Liam means his question. “That’s kind of the point of this, yeah?” he asks, setting down his stolen pen and rubbing at his temple and over his brow bone. He brushes the hair against the grain before smoothing it back, a nervous tic he’s only dimly aware of. “Why else would we be fighting this?”

“I think Liam just means to ask if you’re looking to block her custody entirely. Are you okay with splitting custody?”

The thought of going a weekend or even a single night without his boys makes something cold settle in Zayn’s gut. He feels his forehead break out in beads of sweat and he reclaims the hand that had been on Harry’s knee, bringing both to his lap and pinching each of his fingers in turn.

The loss of contact must affect Harry in some way because he slides so he’s nearly off of his own chair, hanging closer to Zayn and putting a hand on his back, just between his shoulder blades. He massages the muscles in small, tight circles as Zayn takes a deep breath.

“Is it terrible of me that I don’t want her seeing them at all?” he asks in a near whisper, only intending for Harry to hear his words.

“Of course not,” Harry says. The sharpness of his tone makes his words too loud to be a whisper but he isn’t loud enough to call any unnecessary attention to them, either.

Liam, smart lad that he is, clearly senses that Zayn needs a minute. He stands and heads to the counter to give them some privacy. Zayn watches him lean in and smile at the barista, flirting casually while he orders. He has an easy charm about him like Harry does, a way with strangers that Zayn envies.

“I don’t know what to say, Harry,” Zayn confides. “I don’t want to make the wrong decision.”

“There isn’t one,” Harry assures him. “Whatever you want to do is the right decision; Cassie knew what she was doing when she signed away her custody. The burden is on her to earn it back. You don’t owe her anything.”

“I owe her my boys,” Zayn says, trying to be diplomatic.

“She’s just an egg donor as far as I’m concerned,” Harry says, his expression tight with bitterness.

Zayn shakes his head. “That’s not fair, Haz. She was a great mom with Trev.”

“Doesn’t make up for the absent one she’s been with both of them for the past two years. Neither of them would even be able to pick her out of a lineup. It’s like she’s never really existed for them.”

Zayn doesn’t entirely know why he’s playing devil’s advocate and taking her side in the argument. “I always told her she could see them whenever she wanted.”

Harry nods as if Zayn’s made his point for him. “And what did she do? She disappeared and never contacted you or responded to your repeated attempts to get in touch with her. She literally could have been dead, that’s how much you’ve heard from her.”

“She’s their mother.”

Harry scoffs but must realise Zayn’s already leaning a certain way because he backs off- both figuratively and literally as he drops the subject and scoots back into his chair. He drops his hand to the table, drumming his fingers against the wood as he stares at a fixed point until his eyes seem to glaze over.

“Don’t be upset with me,” Zayn pleads. He can’t be strong enough to deal with this stress if he’s going to be going against Harry as well.

Instantly, Harry looks to him and his fingers stop tapping out a pattern on the table top. His pink lips part just enough that Zayn can see the edges of his teeth. His eyes go wide. “I’m not- I could never be upset with you about something like this,” Harry says, leaning in. “I’m just… I’m selfish and I don’t want to let someone who has done the things she’s done close to our boys.”

“Our boys,” Zayn repeats, attempting a smile.

The words make Harry pull back- not much but just enough to be noticeable. “I don’t know why I always say that.”

“No, no,” Zayn says, trying to pull Harry back in. “They’re your boys, too. You helped raise them. You know that, right?” When Harry doesn’t seem to relax, Zayn continues. “You’re the most important person in the world to them, after me. Tar wanted you when he was upset the other day, remember?” Harry nods. “They’re- _we’re_ \- your boys. Your Malik Boys.”

Harry grins at that, rolling his eyes. “My Malik Boys,” he laughs. “I’ll start them in a band.”

“Get in line behind Niall,” Zayn jokes.

The tension is lessened and the air not as thick by the time Liam comes back with a drink for each of them. “I asked the barista what you boys had ordered before so I hope you’re okay with refills.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Zayn protests, though he accepts his tea with greedy hands. “Thank you.”

Harry’s expression has shifted again, a subtle tightness to his eyes that would only be noticed by someone like Zayn, who has spent far too many hours studying his every detail.

“Have you decided how you want this to end, Zayn?” Liam asks delicately, sipping his own drink before setting it down to the side. He places it much too close to his paperwork for Zayn’s liking, Zayn and Harry both having a clumsy streak that near guarantees that the sheets will be drenched and ruined in no time.

Zayn drags his eyes away from the notepad and looks up at Liam. “I want her to have some sort of custody, in the long run,” he admits. “But I’m not comfortable with the thought of her taking them by herself right away. They don’t even know her.”

“Of course,” Liam says. “We can always petition the court to allow her visitation only. There’s several types we can request, from supervised to unsupervised. Because your sons are still very young, it is most likely that the court will want to begin Cassie with supervised visits. Depending on how you and her get along, there’s a chance you can be the supervisor but they usually want a more biased party.” Harry opens his mouth to speak but Liam glances at him and shakes his head. “The only person more biased than you, Harry, is Zayn himself. I would recommend someone you trust that’s close to her as well, though. If that’s possible.”

“What if-“ Zayn hesitates, unsure how best to phrase his next question.

“I won’t judge you,” Liam promises. “Ask me anything.”

“Where should we hide the body?” Harry mutters just low enough that he can pretend he said it ‘under his breath’.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I remember reading it over and the paperwork indicating Cassie has gotten married. Am I allowed to say I don’t want her spouse around the boys in the beginning?”

Liam frowns in thought. “It’s a delicate situation,” he hedges. “If everything goes one hundred percent our way then, yes, you can stipulate that her husband is not to be around for her visits. These will be outings in public or, perhaps, even her coming to your home for some time. You can have more control in the beginning. Once you agree to let her take the boys to her home- either for the afternoon or entire weekends, you lose the right to challenge the spouse’s presence unless you have reason to believe he is either harming your children or harming your relationship with them.”

“I’m not trying to be bitter or let my hurt pride talk,” Zayn rushes to explain himself. “I literally feel no jealousy or ill will towards her for being married and happy. I just- Trev and Tar take after me when it comes to our shyness and they’re both very reserved little boys. Around women, they tend to be more open but when they’re around adult men that they don’t know, they tend to withdraw. Having Cassie reenter their lives will be stressful enough. I can’t exactly be okay with two new, important figures all at once.”

Liam nods. “I think that’s a fair and reasonable reason,” he says as he writes down some notes, probably paraphrasing Zayn’s concerns. “In the beginning, like I said, you have the right to make some strong guidelines. These aren’t material things or alimony payments; these are two little humans who are happy, healthy and whole. Introducing new players in their life will be tough and I think you have a great shot at limiting the amount of changes they experience right away.”

“I think,” Harry starts, shifting forward in his seat and cupping his hands around his drink, “that we’ve got a lot done today. I don’t want to go into our mediation meeting with too much set in stone. We have no idea what’s going to happen.”

“What’s, um, what’s mediation?” Zayn asks, taking a big sip of his drink. He glances at Harry but it’s Liam who answers.

“In your case, mediation is going to be a way to meet with Cassie and see if you can work out a custody arrangement with the help of a neutral party who will guide you and Cassie through the process. You’ll still have Harry and I and Cassie can have her own attorney present, but there won’t be a judge present. Also, mediation isn’t binding, so you can decide that something you previously agreed to doesn’t work anymore and you can go to mediation again or go to court if you feel it needs that level of rule.”

Zayn nods, though he still doesn’t really get it.

“It’s like _Fairly Legal_ ,” Harry puts in with a grin.

Zayn smiles back at him, startled. He remembers the weekend they had spent holed up in their studio apartment the summer they moved in together, smoking up and eating their way through their pantry as they binged the entire two seasons of the show when it played in a marathon.

He remembers when he had said the lead actress was ‘smokin hot’ and Harry had lazily smiled and said the lead actor wasn’t hard on the eyes either. It had been the first time Harry had given any hint to his sexuality.

“I get that, then,” he says.

“I’ll make a note that I should reference television shows,” Liam teases as he begins packing up.

“It’s the easiest way to explain things to me,” Zayn agrees.

“I’ll reach out to Cassie’s attorney and get a mediation date soon. In the meantime, just keep Harry and I in the loop when it comes to any thoughts you may have. We want to make sure we’re a united front going into this.”

“Will do,” Zayn and Harry say in unison.

Liam finishes putting away his things before shaking their hands again and leaving.

“He’s a bit stiff,” Harry says in an apology, his lips pressing together.

“Nah, he’s good people,” Zayn says. Harry looks at him sharply and Zayn furrows his brows. “What?”

“Are you, like, into him?” Harry asks, taking a sip of his drink but never taking his eyes off of Zayn.

Zayn flushes and laughs before shaking his head and bumping Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Let’s go get our boys. I think there’s time enough to do a big shop and make something good for tea.”

Harry pulls a face but nods, grabbing his drink and tossing his bag over his head, fixing the strap across his chest. Zayn shrugs his blue puffer coat on, zipping it up to brace against the frigid air still hovering over the city. They exit the shop, Zayn immediately gasping in the cold.

“C’mere,” Harry says, getting an arm around Zayn’s shoulders.

“I’m fine,” Zayn says. It’s a token protest, as he immediately reaches his far hand across his chest to fist the near pocket of Harry’s peacoat. Harry must know, because he doesn’t even comment and only tightens his hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter features the first mediation session and a close encounter in a bathtub. It... will make more sense when it's posted next weekend. Until next time ♥


	3. a wheel of fortune with a twist of fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet the players on the other side of the custody case. Also, we suffer through an entirely self indulgent bathtub scene. I'd apologize but... [fades away dramatically]

It takes almost two weeks to setup a meeting with Cassie, her attorneys, and a mediator. Liam assures Zayn that two weeks is fast-paced for cases like his; in New York, cases where no child is in immediate physical or mental danger can be on hold for months at a time. Zayn trusts what Liam tells him but he’s still unsatisfied with the wait. Every day that passes without a meeting or resolution is another twenty-four hours spent trying to ignore the acid burning holes in his stomach at the thought of his boys being taken from him.

As Harry promised they would, the two weeks eventually do pass.

Zayn wakes the morning of the meeting with an awful headache. He takes two pills with his morning coffee and rests his head on the kitchen table for a count of ten before telling himself he has to get on with his day.

The boys are shuffled off to Miss Julie’s for day care, Zayn promising them that he’ll be the one picking them up at the end of the day, and Zayn heads off to work. He’s determined to throw himself into the final stages of the project he and Ned are working on.

His friends, however, can’t keep their damned mouths shut.

“What time is your meeting thing at again?”

Zayn flips Griff the bird over his shoulder. “One o’clock,” he answers anyway.

“I couldn’t be concentrating like this if I were you.”

“Funny, I can’t concentrate _because_ of you.”

“It’s only, like…” he can practically hear Ned’s brain churning over the math, “seventy-nine minutes away.”

“How did you even earn a degree?” Griff asks him, chuffing Ned about the back of his head.

“I’ll ask you the same question: haven’t seen you pick up a pencil yet today.”

A loud buzzing sound interrupts their bitching and Zayn grabs for his mobile distractedly.

“This is Zayn.”

“Mr. Malik? This is Payton, Julie’s daughter. Your boys are fine,” she adds just as Zayn’s heart leaps into his throat. “Mama’s had a bad fall, though, and was taken to the hospital. I’m here with the children but I need you to come pick them up or have one of your emergency contacts do so.”

“I’m so sorry, Payton. I’ll… yes, of course, I’m… I’ll be there soon or, someone will be, at least.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malik.”

Zayn flips his phone closed and stands from his desk. Griff and Ned pause their conversation, both of them looking at him with wide eyes. “You okay?”

“I have to pick up the boys, their caretaker had an accident. Tell Malcom I’ve left early if he asks or I’ll tell himself myself on Monday.”

“Do you need us to do anything?” Ned asks, all signs of joking gone from his expression.

“I’m okay,” Zayn assures him, swinging on his jacket. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Call me and let me know how it goes!” Griff shouts out as Zayn jogs to the back stairs, mobile already dialing Niall’s number. Zayn waves in acknowledgment and pushes into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. He can barely hear the ringing of the phone over the thud of is shoes but he hears it clearly enough when the line clicks over to voicemail.

_“You’ve reached Niall Horan. I’m unable to come to the phone right now but leave your name, number and a brief message and I’ll return your call at the first opportunity.”_

Zayn sighs and hangs up the line, zipping his jacket as he reaches the first floor and steps outside. He turns for the subway on autopilot, already opening up Louis’ contact info and tapping the green button. Straight to voicemail.

_“It’s Louis. Leave a message.”_

Short and to the point, that Tommo is. Doesn’t help Zayn much in this situation. He growls in irritation and flags a cab instead, hoping his gut is right when it tells him driving will be the fastest way to get to his boys.

 

 

The courthouse is on the opposite side of Manhattan- of course- and Zayn finds himself running late to get there on time. The cab ride to get to Miss Julie’s had taken twice as long as the subway would have and he takes the boys to the A line, nervous about showing up to the first mediation session with both of his sons in tow but he doesn’t think he has any other options. It’s the Friday before Thanksgiving and the city is already overwhelmed with tourists. The subway is two or three times as busy as a regular day and Zayn’s Uber app had been down. Tar and Trev are fidgety and anxious. They’ve picked up on his bad moon and the feelings are only amplified by their own shyness. The crowd of people pressing against them on the train does nothing to help the situation.

“You didn’t answer and I didn’t know what to do,” Zayn tells Harry in apology when they finally fly in, cheeks and noses scarlet red from the late-November chill.

Tar is near tears in one of Zayn’s arms and Trev is clinging tightly to Zayn’s neck in his other arm. Zayn’s a bit out of breath from carrying both of them up the three flights of stairs to their assigned conference room- as the elevator had, of course, been out of order. Tar turns in Zayn’s hold, nearly over balancing but Zayn juggles him expertly even as Tar reaches hands out for Harry to hold him.

“It’s okay,” Harry assures him, rushing over to take Tar and let him bury his grumpy face in Harry’s shoulder. His little baby hands fist around the lapels of Harry’s suit as Harry runs a large palm up and under his puffy jacket to stroke against his spine in a soothing way. “Hi, baby,” Zayn hears Harry whisper as he kisses Tariq’s temple.

“They’re not very happy with me,” Zayn says, shifting Trev in his hold so he has both arms wrapped under his bum.

Harry smiles at him over Tar. “They’re just stressed.”

“They’ll learn what stress is one day,” Zayn mutters.

“It’s really okay, though, Cassie got stuck in traffic coming over the bridge. She should be here soon. Her attorney is waiting in the lobby, I think.”

“Down,” Trev says.

“Say ‘please’,” Harry and Zayn remind in unison. Trev repeats them obediently and Zayn lets him down so his feet are flat on the floor. Trev makes a beeline for Harry, trying to bury his face in Harry’s hip. Zayn has a quick second of jealousy that his boys view Harry as their saviour, especially from him, but then he realises that he views Harry exactly the same. Harry has been his safe space for several long years now and Zayn doesn’t begrudge his boys the same.

“I didn’t want them here for this, I know we talked about keeping them away, but I literally had no one to ask. Miss Julie had an accident and I couldn’t reach Niall or Louis. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’ll watch them,” Harry assures him. “It’s really fine.”

Tariq is still upset but thankfully not screaming, content enough to cling to Harry tightly and let loose little baby whimpers of dissatisfaction every moment or so.

“I can take them to one of the offices out of sight. I’m- well, I’m just assuming you don’t want Cassie seeing them,” Harry offers, reading the thoughts from the very recesses of Zayn’s mind that he wasn’t even truly aware he was having. Like always.

Zayn registers Liam walking up to them but he doesn’t turn right away. “I wanted you in there, though,” he says with a pout, eyes growing wider as he looks up at Harry.

“I know, babe,” Harry replies easily. “I want to be in there, too. But you’ll have Liam and I’ll have our boys and we’ll keep them out of the middle of this whole thing as much as possible.”

Zayn lets Harry pull him closer as Harry shifts his hold on Tariq to free up an arm, half of his chest open for Zayn to press against. Harry’s free hand curls around Zayn’s hips. It’s not the most all-consuming hug Zayn’s ever had but it feels the safest nonetheless. All three of his boys are within his touch. He breathes in the calming and familiar scent of Harry’s body wash. The citrus smell is one that would be overpowering on just about anyone else but it’s perfect on Harry.

When they pull back enough that Zayn can’t smell oranges and tangerines anymore, he finally looks over and fully acknowledges Liam’s presence. “Sorry,” he says. “I- this day is even rougher than I expected. Thank you, again, for doing this.” He holds out a hand to shake.

Before he’s even let Liam’s fingers slip from his grasp, one of Harry’s palms has fought its way under his puffy jacket, dress shirt and vest to press against his bare skin. He’s hot to the touch and Zayn instantly feels warmth flash along his side.

“It’s not a problem,” Liam says, eyes drifting down to where he can only see a hint of movement under the hem of Zayn’s jacket. “You’re well within reason to be in panic- my first custody hearing with my ex-wife was before a judge and I nearly soiled myself just waiting in the lobby.”

Zayn grins when Liam smiles reassuringly. He takes a moment to eye Liam’s outfit, a decently well-fitting navy suit with a white dress shirt and black tie. It looks sharp but worn, the fabric around the buttons showing loose threads if one looks long enough. Zayn steps away from Harry then, their point of contact falling away as he sizes up his best mate. Harry’s suit, in contrast to Liam’s, is all black with a black shirt underneath, the top few buttons undone and a tie loose around his neck. It’s a skinny fit, making his legs look longer and his waist look narrower, and the suit reeks of the money his parents probably paid for it.

Zayn feels underdressed and out of place in his nicest pair of black slacks, white dress shirt and no tie. He starts fiddling first with his hair and then with the hem of his shirt, trying to untuck and then tuck it back in.

“You look fine,” Harry and Liam assure him in unison. They trade a quick glance before Liam smiles and Harry frowns. Zayn doesn’t have time to think about why because Liam’s phone is buzzing in his hand and the screen lights up with a notification of an incoming text.

Liam glances down at it. “She’s in the lobby,” he says, looking up at Zayn through his lashes. “The boys should probably…” he trails off.

“Right, right,” Zayn says, crouching down and coaxing Trevor away from Harry. “Give baba a hug and a kiss and I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Where are you going?” Trev asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before stepping forward for a hug.

“I’ve got a little bit of work to do so you’re going to go hang out with Uncle Harry.”

“Yes!” Trev says, and Zayn forces himself to not be offended.

He stands and runs a palm down Tar’s back, watching his baby’s eyelids flutter in his sleep. One hand is pressed to his mouth, his thumb on the edge of his lip but not quite pressing inside. It makes Zayn’s resolve harden; he’s fighting for this. He is fighting for his boys to keep being surrounded by the people they love. He can’t just let them get torn away from him and Harry- and Louis and Niall- all at once.

“They’ve both had naps and snacks,” Zayn says, his voice soft in the minimal space between him and Harry. “The excitement must have worn him out a little but I doubt he’ll sleep long. They should both be pretty easy for you, but I brought juice and toys for them in the diaper bag.”

“You act like I don’t see them almost every day,” Harry chuckles, taking the bag off of Zayn’s shoulder easily.

A loud sound startles Zayn and he glances over his shoulder to see the elevator doors lighting up as it approaches. He scoffs to himself; figures it would start working now.

“Zayn, I’ve got to go,” Harry reminds, pulling Zayn’s focus back to him.

“Right, shit, yes. Thanks again, Hazza. Behave boys,” he tells Trev and the still-dozing Tar.

Harry grins and rolls his eyes before turning and walking away, disappearing around the corner almost at the same moment the elevator dings its arrival. Zayn spares a brief glance at Liam, the two of them taking a deep breath in unison, before he turns to face down the hallway.

A flurry of activity when the doors open means that Zayn can’t focus his eyes on anything specific for a few seconds. He just sees a block of people moving towards them in a wave of black and navy suits. He feels tiny with only Liam next to him as he counts heads to find eight people total in Cassie’s party. He finally recognizes her where she is packed in the middle of the others. Her hair is darker and pulled back into a tight ponytail but her eyes are still the same bright blue over the distance that used to make Zayn’s heart skip beats.

She looks older than the years that have passed would have suggested. There’s something tight and tired in her expression. Her walk is hesitant, her feet dragging. The man closest to her looks about a decade older. He’s graying at the temples and a bit in his beard. His hand appears to be on Cassie’s back, as if he’s pressing her forward, and his expression holds something hostile behind his eyes. He makes Zayn feel uncomfortable so he quickly looks away.

The others in her group are much older, probably all in their mid-fifties, a mix of white men and women that have an attorney aura about them. Zayn doesn’t want to look weak in the midst of their oncoming presence but he also wants to cower behind Liam and play a game of hide and seek. He steels himself for his boys and stands his ground.

Liam’s fingertips touch his pulse point gently. “Are you ready?” he asks in a low tone.

Zayn finally meets Cassie’s gaze head-on. He feels a surge of pity when he sees her discomfort but he remembers quickly that this was her decision- both in disappearing from their lives and in her dramatic method of reappearing- and he pulls his shoulders back and stands taller. “I’m ready.”

 

 

It turns out, as it often does, that Zayn was _not_ ready.

They’re seated around a long conference table, Zayn and Cassie in seats facing each other. Liam is to Zayn’s right and the mediator sits on Liam’s other side at the head of the table. One of Cassie’s lawyers is in front of Liam, a man who shook Zayn’s hand at the beginning and had even offered him a smile as he introduced himself as Steven Jones, the head of her team. When they had been filing into the mediation room, Liam had whispered that Steven had been a professor of his at one point and was a fair, reasonable attorney. It had settled some of Zayn’s initial nerves.

Until, that is, the man who had been seemingly pushing Cassie forward revealed himself to be not one of the members of her team of lawyers but her husband instead.

The knowledge that this was the man she had married- this guy with a cold expression and no light behind his eyes- had made Zayn’s blood run cold. When he had forced himself to consider his children with a stepfather, he had imagined someone like him or like Harry- someone who was younger and warm, who laughed a lot and was content to stay home and play with Legos over going out on a Friday night. Richard, instead, seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn’t care to hear about his sons’ drawings or imaginations or dreams. Zayn couldn’t see Richard picking the boys up from day care and walking them through the park on the way home. Zayn didn’t think Richard would be interested in taking Trev to his eye doctor appointments or coaxing Tar through a spike of social anxiety.

The man wasn’t someone Zayn wanted around his boys, that was a fact he knew almost immediately. For the first hour of the mediation meeting, half of which was spent explaining that the rules of their mediation were not intended to be binding or end-all, be-all fixes for the situation, Cassie hadn’t even spoken. Richard handled all of the talking, taking his time to list all of the reasons he believed Zayn was an unfit father. He basically read the entirety of the motion that Zayn had originally received, getting the concerns on the official record, according to him.

Though Liam and Harry had both warned Zayn time and again to stay quiet during the meeting no matter what he heard, he finally snapped halfway through the remarks.

“I don’t remember anyone caring that I ‘fucked half of the city’,” he uses air quotes here, fuming as he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, “when Cassie agreed to split custody of Trevor in the first place or when we got back together.”

His words erupt in a snarl, his lip curling in distaste as he lets some of his emotions rise up in an ugly wave inside of his chest. He had refrained from injecting his inner dialogue of bitchy comments so far but he has reached his breaking point.

Cassie speaks for the first time. “I wasn’t in the right mind. I had post-partum depression.”

Zayn grinds his back teeth in an effort to avoid snapping back at her comment. He knows what she’s saying is most likely true- had seen enough evidence of it to believe her- but he also knew that their decision to be a family again and their second pregnancy with Tariq were not caused by her depression. They had made their decisions together as a family unit and he couldn’t let her re-write history to erase that.

“I don’t doubt that you did,” he says in a calmer tone before Richard can resume speaking. “I know you had a rough time of it.” He knows, himself, what it feels like having an invisible weight pressing him down every hour of every day. He was going to give Cassie the benefit of the doubt as far as he could. He couldn’t let her change facts, though. “We decided though, together, to get married and be a family before you changed your mind and left us.”

“I didn’t leave-“ Cassie begins to protest before her husband raises his hand to silence her.

The gesture makes Zayn narrow his eyes.

“Would you please strike from the record Mr. Malik’s interruption as well as Mrs. Sinclair’s response,” Richard says to the stenographer.

“ _For_ the record,” Liam says, his tone diplomatic and his expression neutral as if no interruptions had occurred, “your list of concerns regarding Mr. Malik’s ability to parent these boys in a responsible and nurturing manner are based on actions that all occurred before Mrs. Sinclair agreed to split custody of Trevor before he was even born.”

“I’m not sure what that has to do with anything,” Richard says.

“You wife excused Mr. Malik’s past behavior when she gave him custody of their first child.”

“My wife’s judgment was impaired at the time.”

“And for the past two years?” Zayn asks, muttering under his breath just enough to make Liam cast him a sharp glance but he doesn’t think anyone else heard. Especially not the stenographer, whom Zayn hadn’t even expected to be present. The way he clicks at the keys makes something in Zayn’s brain fog over.

“My wife initially agreed to split custody because she was young and your client’s parents could afford an expensive lawyer that scared Cassandra into making a bad deal.”

Cassandra? Zayn mouths, looking across the table but Cassie doesn’t react and simply glances away and down, eyes trained on the wood as if she’s seeing something fascinating in the grain.

“My client never did commit anything that would endanger your son’s life, is that correct?”

“That isn’t the issue at hand-“ Richard protests before Cassie lifts her chin and answers.

“That is correct. Zayn never did anything that would endanger our children’s lives.”

“Did Mr. Malik ever give you reason to suspect he would slip back into his self-destructive ways once your son was born?”

“No, he did not.”

“Did Mr. Malik ever give you reason to suspect that he would hurt you in the months leading up to your first child’s birth?”

“No, he did not.”

“Did Mr. Malik ever give you reason to suspect that he would hurt your unborn son in the months leading up to your first child’s birth?”

“No, he did not.”

“Did Mr. Malik-“

“No, okay?” Cassie interrupts, sitting forward and shrugging off her husband’s arm. “Zayn never made me think he would hurt me or either of the boys. He wasn’t a violent man. But his behavior- his drinking, his partying and his hooking up every night with a different drug addict loser- those things all scared me.”

“Mrs. Sinclair, you don’t have to say this,” Jones advises her, with Liam echoing the words kindly.

“Nothing has to be said, if you wish.”

“I just need- when we got back together, I thought we were going to figure everything out. I thought we were going to become this picture-perfect family. I just- realising that wasn’t going to happen and that we weren’t going to work- combined with the post-partum and general depression and everything that happens to you when you’re young and spiraling down- that all took over me and made me convinced I should sign away custody of my second son. I wasn’t in the right mind set, I wasn’t aware of the consequences of my actions and I was _never_ prepared to not see my sons again.”

“Then why did you do it?” Zayn asks. “Why did you walk away from them?”

“I needed to figure my head out,” Cassie says, pleading with Zayn. “My parents helped me get a doctor and I worked hard to get healthy. Then I met Richard,” she indicates her husband, “and he helped me see I had a shot at getting my boys back.”

“They’re not your boys- you gave up on them,” Zayn challenges.

“My wife and I can give them a good home,” Richard says, his tone conveying a finality and connotation that makes Zayn’s hackles rise.

“They have a good home with me.”

Richard waves away his words as if they are of no concern. “We don’t live in the city.”

“There’s nothing wrong with living in the city.”

“Manhattan is no place to raise children.”

“The neighborhood we’re in is perfect for families- there’s kids all around us and there’s diversity, something they won’t get with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richard asks, his voice hitting higher than Zayn expected.

“It means that my sons are brown: they have my name, my religion and Tariq has my skin. I want them to grow up surrounded by kids and families that look like them. I want them to see other languages and cultures and learn to respect them. I don’t want my sons holed away in an all-white suburb with no diversity except the nearest Taco Bell.”

“Zayn, stop,” Liam says in a low voice, his hand gentle on Zayn’s arm.

“I take offence to that,” Cassie snaps. “I would never erase their heritage.”

“Oh yeah?” Zayn asks, blatantly ignoring Liam. “Are you going to raise them Muslim? Teach them about the prayers and fast days?”

“I’ll let them decide for themselves when they’re older.”

“That’s not-“ Zayn takes a breath before continuing. “How are they going to know what their options are if you don’t even tell them?”

“We know what it takes to raise a family,” Richard protests. “Cassandra is an amazing stepmother to my daughters and it's time that we bring the entire family together.”

“You have children?” Zayn asks, trying and possibly failing to keep the surprise out of his voice. It isn't that he can't picture the man with a family, it's more that he can't picture him as anyone other than a person who values status above anything else. Zayn has a brief, fleeting thought of the family pictures being grand, oil on canvas portraits instead of the hundreds of Polaroids that litter Zayn’s own home.

He then sobers up when he processes the entirety of what Richard has said. Cassie- instead of seeing their boys- has been acting as a mother to someone else’s children. It hits Zayn in the gut realising that she's been in a position to offer love and acceptance to others but not to Trev or Tar.

He tunes back in when Richard finishes explaining that his daughters, both teenagers, look up to and respect Cassandra and that they're excited to meet their little brothers.

“They aren't their brothers,” he spits out before he can stop himself.

“Zayn,” Liam cautions in a low voice.

“I'm sorry but- at this point- you and your daughters are complete strangers to my sons. Cassie, Cassandra, however you want to be known, you have to realize: they don't know you,” he says. He finds himself pleading. “I don't want them to be overwhelmed if you come back into their life with so many new people at once.”

“This is my family,” Cassie protests at the same time Richard is interrupting with, “I don't think you understand what we're doing here.”

“Enlighten me,” Zayn says, palms up as he shrugs.

“We aren't looking to split custody,” Richard says in his deep voice, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Trevor and Tariq will be living with us full time.”

“Like fucking hell,” Zayn says, his voice coming out higher in his anger. “You’ll have to pry my boys from my cold, dead hands if you think you're taking them from me.”

There's silence after his words, most of the people on Cassie’s side of the table looking shocked and pretty highkey offended. Zayn’s breathing hard and loud through his nose. He dimly registers Liam’s hand on his arm.

“Zayn, I need you to breathe and also: keep quiet,” Liam says in the lowest of whispers.

“They're not taking my boys,” he says at normal volume.

“We have already established that we can provide them the most stable environment,” Richard says as if his words are registering at all with Zayn. All Zayn can hear is white noise, his heart beating out of his body. He hardly notices when Liam begins to speak.

“We disagree,” Liam says. “Zayn and his partner can provide a stable, loving environment and already have been doing so. You have failed to prove that my client is negligent in any way. This meeting was simply to see if we could come to an agreement. I do not anticipate that happening at this time.”

“His partner?” Cassie asks. Zayn turns his head to look at her as she crosses her arms across her chest as if she's cold. “You didn't say anything.”

“I don't need to run things past you,” Zayn says without any real heat behind the words as he tries to replay what Liam had said.

“You object to my husband and daughters being around our sons but you've got someone yourself.”

“What?” Zayn asks, turning to glance at Liam.

“I don't see any correlation between those two things,” Liam says, speaking to Cassie. “Harry has been a part of these boys’ lives since they were born. They've never not known him to be someone they and their father love. In contrast, your husband and you are strangers to them.”

“Harry?” Zayn and Cassie say at the same time.

“Harry Styles,” Liam says. “But I digress. This meeting is clearly not going to end with a custody agreement being drafted. I think we should set another mediation session for two weeks from now, after the holiday. That puts us... at the first week in December.”

“That’s fine,” Cassie’s attorney says. The last time Jones had spoken, reassuring and comforting Cassie, feels like hours ago and Zayn can hear the relief in the older man’s voice. Richard looks upset with the decision but Cassie’s expression is harder to read. There’s sadness in her face, clear regret in her eyes, but there are also waves of something that looks like worry in the small wrinkle between her brows. Zayn has a kneejerk urge to assure her that he and the boys are going to be fine but then he feels the overwhelming weight of the past two hours pushing down on his shoulders. This is the woman whose blood runs through his sons’ veins but she’s also the woman who allowed her husband to question and belittle every small fact about Zayn’s life as if it was his for the perusing. Zayn realises it’s no longer his place to reassure her or protect her from ugly truths. If anything, she needs to start reassuring _him_ that she’ll be able to be the kind of mother his boys deserve.

He bolts from the room as soon as he gets the go-ahead nod from Liam. He doesn’t want to stay and continue saying things he think he might regret.

It doesn’t take him long to find Harry and the boys. They’re in an otherwise empty office around the corner from the conference room. Trevor is napping in the office chair and Tar has a coloring book open on the floor. He’s sitting in the open space between Harry’s spread thighs, one hand clutching a blue crayon in his fist while he colors more-or-less inside the lines with a single-minded determination.

Tar and Harry look up in unison when he shuts the door behind himself, impossibly identical grins when they see him.

“Baba back,” Tar says, pushing himself up onto his sometimes still unsteady feet before he rushes over to hug at Zayn’s knees and pout to be picked up. Zayn obliges the wordless request, settling Tar on his hip and kissing him in hello. Tar starts babbling about all of the things he and his ‘Unca’ ‘Arry’ have gotten up to, seemingly unconcerned with his father’s unexplained disappearance. For all Zayn knows, Tar might think it’s just a regular day of being babysat while Zayn’s at work.

“How was it?” Harry asks when Tar takes a pause to breathe deeply.

“It was- weird,” Zayn says after a moment’s hesitation. He doesn’t know how to explain to Harry what was said at the end, doesn’t know how to convey what he doesn’t quite understand, himself.

“You’ll tell me about it later?” Harry asks. Zayn assumes that Harry thinks he doesn’t want to discuss it in front of the boys, which is also true. Tar is still babbling a bit, patting at Zayn’s necklaces as he talks, and Zayn tunes back in to listen to what he’s saying.

“I’m glad you had fun today, beta,” Zayn says once Tar seems to be done for the time being. Tar grins at him.

“Baba, I’m hungry,” Trev says from the office chair. When Zayn looks over, he sees his oldest boy wiping at his eyes as he wakes from his nap. He’s pouting, his hair is sticking up in different directions, and his cheeks are pink from slumber. He makes Zayn’s heart hurt with love.

“I’m a bit peckish, myself,” Harry says, stepping away from Zayn to pick up the scattered toys from the diaper bag. “What do you boys say we go to the store and get something to make for supper, yeah?”

“Can we do mac n’ cheese?”

“Of course we can,” Harry insists, grinning at Zayn hard enough that his dimple shows in stark contrast when Zayn bends down to help him tidy, Tar toddling off to pick up his crayons.

Uncharacteristically, Trev stays in his chair. Zayn isn’t under any delusions that either of his boys actually enjoy tidying, but Trev is usually the first to volunteer to help with anything. He likes being given tasks to complete as there are usually little rewards at the end for them.

A knock on the doorframe startles Zayn out of his observations. He turns and has to physically stop his jaw from dropping when he sees Cassie.

“What are you doing here?” he asks after an awkwardly silent moment. Zayn watches out of the corner of his eye as Harry stands and shifts his position so he’s between the door and the boys but then Zayn does one better and corrals her out of the room. Harry follows him and shuts the door behind them.

“I- I didn’t know they were here,” Cassie stutters out, eyes wide when she looks at the boys through the glass door. “I just- I just wanted them to- shit,” she curses under her breath, so low Zayn can barely hear it. “I just wanted to ask you about Harry.”

“What about me?” Harry asks, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

“When did this start? You two, I mean.”

Zayn would give anything in the world to know how to answer her question and he would give twice as much for the ground to open up and swallow him down.

“Were you and him- when we got back together?”

“I don’t- it isn’t like that,” Zayn says after a brief hesitation. He feels mortified and desperately wishes for Liam to come in and put a stop to this. “I never cheated on you with Harry.”

Zayn doesn’t look at Harry’s face but he can’t see any obvious reaction from his peripherals.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” she says, and Zayn surprisingly believes her. It doesn’t really make it better, though. “I-” she hesitates.

“What is it?” Zayn asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as brisk as he feels.

“Is there any chance I can meet them?” Her face flushes scarlet but her eyes don’t leave his as her voice lowers and she takes one step closer, her body language clearly signifying that she wants this to be a private exchange. She’ll realise soon enough that Harry is always going to be involved in decisions about the boys. “You don’t have to tell them who I am but. I just want to speak to them.”

“I don’t know-” Harry starts to say but Zayn interrupts him.

“You could have seen them any time you wanted,” he says, coldly. “All you had to do was return one of my calls.”

“I know.”

“Cassie…” Zayn sighs, rubbing his eyebrow with his finger. “I’ll tell them you’re my friend but I’m not going to elaborate further.”

“That’s more than enough,” she says, her shoulders instantly relaxing in relief.

“Come on.” With heavy resignation and fifty thousand doubts circling in his head, Zayn pushes the door back open and leads Cassie inside. “Boys, can you come here for a minute?”

“Baba what?” Tar asks, toddling over. Trev slips down from his chair slowly but jogs to catch up to his little brother.

Zayn kneels to be closer to their level. He straightens their shirts and brushes back Trev’s curls, feeling the warmth still on his face from when he’d been sleeping. “This is a friend of mine, Miss Cassie. I’d like you to say hello.”

“Hello,” Trevor says obediently, eyes wide behind his glasses. He looks down to the ground quickly. Tar stands next to his brother as if they’re conjoined, mumbling something.

“A little louder, beta.”

“Herrow,” he says, always mixing up his L’s and his R’s.

“Hello. It’s very nice to meet you,” Cassie says, taking a knee as well though she doesn’t get as close as Zayn is. “My name is Cassie. Can you tell me your names?”

“Go on, jaan,” Zayn encourages.

“I’m Trev and this is Tariq. He’s my little brother.”

“And are you a good big brother to him?” Cassie asks, eyes wet but smile genuine.

Trev nods.

“That’s good. Well, I best be on my way. It was very nice to meet you.”

“Nice meet,” Tar agrees with a smile. “Bye bye.”

“Bye-bye.”

“I’ll be right back in,” Zayn promises, kissing Trev on the forehead. “Go finish tidying, please?”

Harry’s stood outside the door, arms crossing his chest and a deep frown on his face. It’s a little scary, if Zayn’s honest, seeing Harry without a hint of mirth in his expression.

“Thank you, Zayn,” Cassie says, tears wetting her cheeks now. “I-“

Just then, Liam comes around the corner into the hallway. Zayn watches him stop and take in the sight of them huddled in front of the office.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he says, addressing Cassie. “You should probably have your attorney with you.”

“He’s my husband’s attorney,” Cassie says, taking a quick step backwards. “I didn’t want it to get to this point.”

“But it has, now,” Harry says. “It’s now at that point and you shouldn’t be without your lawyer if you’re going to be discussing the boys.”

Cassie nods again, slowly and without speaking. Her eyes drop to the carpet and she takes another step back before turning on her toes and walking away. She passes Liam silently and she’s around the corner before Zayn releases a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

“You didn’t have to be harsh,” he says, finding himself chastising both Harry and Liam. “She _is_ their mother.”

“She abandoned them!” Harry says.

“But she’s still their _mum_ , Harry.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking her side.”

“I’m taking their side!” Zayn shouts, the words tearing from his chest in a violent wave as he lifts a hand and points through the glass to his sons. “I’m not doing any of this for her or for me. Do you think I want them to ever be with anyone who isn’t us?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation out here,” Liam says in the following silence, Zayn and Harry not breaking eye contact.

“Why did she ask about us?” Harry asks, having ignored Liam’s suggestion.

The question makes a flush settle in Zayn’s cheeks again as he breaks their stare to study the floor with interest.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Zayn shakes his head and shrugs at the same time. “Liam told her we’re together.”

“What?” Harry asks, looking at Liam at the same time Liam looks between them and asks, “You’re not?”

“No.”

“Oh, I just- I thought you were,” Liam says, looking uncomfortable.

“Why?” Harry asks, his own confusion evident on his face and it makes Zayn feel about an inch tall. He’s aware that he’s been pining over Harry for years, now, but something about the way Harry says that single word makes Zayn feel like an idiot for any and every time he’s had a half-thought that Harry could ever feel the same.

Uninterested in the rest of the conversation, he slips into the office to find Tar and Trev both standing by the desk, holding hands and looking at Zayn with wide eyes. “What’s up, boys?” he asks, stopping in his tracks.

“Baba, you yelled at Uncle Harry,” Trevor says, cheeks and mouth both a startling pink.

“I- no, I-,” Zayn tries to explain but he stops short because he doesn’t know what to say next. He did yell at Harry, not even thinking that the boys would be able to hear it through the door. He feels even smaller than he had with Harry a moment ago. “I did, a little,” he admits. “Baba got a little upset and yelled. I’m sorry.”

“Are you mad at Uncle Harry?” Trevor asks, taking a few steps closer to Zayn and tugging Tariq along with him.

“Uncle Harry and I just want you boys to be happy,” Zayn says, taking a knee and pulling them into a hug. He kisses each of them on the temple. “We got loud because we both love you boys so much.”

“Baba roud,” Tar says, frowning and burying his head in Zayn’s shirt.

“Yeah, I was,” Zayn agrees.

“Unca’ ‘Arry,” Tar says, pulling back after a second and looking around. “Where go?”

Zayn stands and finishes gathering their things, already mostly packed up by Harry and him earlier. “Uncle Harry’s right outside,” Zayn says, nodding through the glass.

Harry’s a little to the side, an opaque wall partially hiding him, but Tar sees him and rushes to the window. He smacks his palms to the glass. “Unca’ ‘Arry,” he says, shouting loud. “Hi!”

Harry startles but smiles instantly, kneeling down to be eye-level with Tar. He puts his own palm to the glass before leaning in and blowing a raspberry right against the window. Tar and Trev shriek with laughter, both of them hurrying to copy him.

Zayn rolls his eyes as he realises they’re going to have to clean the glass but part of him relaxes, as well. Harry doesn’t seem half as upset as he had been a few moments ago and he even smiles and winks at Zayn when he pulls away from the window.

Zayn thinks they’ll be just fine.

 

 

“We haven’t really talked about Thanksgiving,” Harry notes as they’re heading home after the mediation meeting. Trev is holding Harry’s hand, Tar holding Zayn’s as he toddles along next to them, though Zayn knows he’ll soon get tired and need to be picked up.

Zayn hums as they fall into a single file line to fit between the other pedestrians on the sidewalk, both of them holding their arms out so the boys fit between them to keep them close. When there’s room enough, Zayn picks Tar up against his token protest.

“Big boy, I walk.”

“I know you’re a big boy,” Zayn assures him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Look, Uncle Harry’s holding your brother.”

Tar glances disinterestedly to where Harry has just swung Trevor onto his own hip. He wiggles in Zayn’s hold.

“Baba, I walk.”

“In a minute,” Zayn says, and Tar slumps in his hold, going limp.

“Thanksgiving,” Harry prompts a second later.

“Right,” Zayn says, nodding. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say next,” he admits, grinning when Harry rolls his eyes. “What?” he laughs.

“What are you boys doing?”

“Erm, nothing?” Zayn tries. Harry looks offended. “It isn’t like they know what it is. It isn’t like I even know what it is.”

“An excuse to eat a lot of food.”

“We do that every day,” Zayn says. He looks at a still-grumpy Tar. “Don’t we, beta?” he asks, lifting a hand to tickle Tar’s tummy. “We eat a lot of food every day.”

“Baba, I walk,” Tariq repeats, refusing to smile or acknowledge Zayn’s question.

“Oh, fine,” Zayn sighs, setting him back down on his feet and taking his hand again. He looks up at Harry. “What? Were you doing something to celebrate?”

“I thought I’d make us dinner.”

Zayn gives Harry what he hopes is his best exasperated look. “I don’t think- you cook for us all of the time, babe.”

“I like cooking for my boys,” he protests.

Zayn doesn’t respond for a moment, trying to suppress the feeling he gets at Harry’s words.

Harry must read some of his thoughts because he frowns for a moment and shifts Trev to his other hip, away from Zayn. “Hey, I- well, I don’t really know how to say this,” he starts. “About what Liam said about us…”

“It’s fine,” he’s quick to say. “I’ll make sure I tell everyone the truth.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, his words coming fast and low so the boys don’t hear. “For once, just shush for a second. I was saying that I’m in.”

“You’re… in?” Zayn repeats.

“Liam said it would be better to stick with the story. One, because it’s already been said and we don’t want to look like liars. Two, he thinks it will look better having the boys have two parents here, since it seems Cassie and Richard are pushing that angle pretty hard.”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says, shifting closer to Harry when a haggard looking older man pushes past them with too many shopping bags in his hands.

“I mean, I know I wouldn’t actually be their parent. It- It would just be pretend, I guess.”

“Now you shut up,” Zayn returns when he steps away again. He tilts his head up so Harry can see his grin. “You know you’re the best to them. You’ve been there for them- for all three of us- their whole life. You’re their other parent.”

Harry sticks out his tongue.

Zayn shoves at his shoulder and laughs. “I just don’t know how I feel about lying that we’re together.”

The look that crosses Harry’s face is confusing but Zayn turns away when he jostles a passerby and he forgets it quickly when they have to tuck in close again to avoid crashing into any others. Zayn keeps his arm extended in front of him so they can keep an eye on Tar as they pass a huge crowd of people coming up from the subway. Zayn turns to head down the stairs but Harry’s grip on his arm stops him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.

Impatience flits through Harry’s eyes though there’s enough fondness there that Zayn doesn’t get offended. “Thanksgiving,” Harry prompts.

“What am I missing about this?” Zayn asks.

“Am I cooking for us?”

“Babe, I will never say no to that.”

“Should we do the shopping now?”

“With the boys?” Zayn asks, looking at Trev, who is napping again with his head pillowed on Harry’s shoulder.

“I- well,” Harry starts, flushing darker than the cold has already tinged his cheeks, before taking a breath and continuing, “I already have a turkey and most of the big stuff. I just need a couple of things for dessert and maybe something for the adults to drink.”

Zayn’s smile shifts, the corners turning up a bit more as he ducks his head. He licks his lips and uses his free hand to swipe his fringe back from his face, absentmindedly noting it’s time for a trim. When he looks up, there’s a solid fondness in Harry's green eyes that makes Zayn wish he’d left his fringe alone to help hide his face.

“Let’s go to the store,” he says.

Harry’s smile builds slow, starting with the upturned quirk of his lips at the corners. His mouth stretches wider, pushing his cheeks up and forming his dimples. His lips part, revealing perfectly white, even teeth until his smile is full force, blinding like the sun.

It makes Zayn’s heart beat faster. He tells his brain to send a signal to his chest and tell it to calm the fuck down, but his brain tells him to shut up and Zayn just kind of leaves it at that.

 

 

An hour later finds them standing in line at the supermarket, Tariq throwing a tantrum because Harry is holding the basket and can’t pick him up. Zayn presses a kiss to Trev’s warm forehead, having realised halfway through the trip that he was coming down with something when his flush from his nap hadn’t receded. Zayn shifts, looking down to Tar with a frown.

“You said you were a big boy and you could walk,” Zayn reminds him.

Tar glances at him, mouth open in a whine. His arms are stretched above his head, tugging at Harry’s blazer. He goes quiet for all of three seconds before he cries again. “Up,” he begs.

“I can walk, baba,” Trev says but Zayn feels the way his small fist clenches tighter to his dress shirt even as he speaks.

Zayn sighs. “No, beta, you’re going to stay right here. Your brother will be okay.” He does his best to ignore the looks from the strangers next to them in line. His spare hand is full of their coats, all except Trev who wouldn’t let his peacoat be taken off. Harry’s coat is easy enough to hold but the puffy style jackets that he and Tar wear keep sliding in his hold. He gets an idea.

“Tariq, babe, can you do baba a favor?” His question gets Tar’s attention but he doesn’t stop his pouting. His whines quiet to small whimpers, instead, as his interest is piqued. He loves helping, both of his boys do, and it gets him to focus on something other than his tantrum. “Can you hold your Uncle Harry’s coat for him, buddy? Baba is holding our coats and it would help me a lot if you could do this.”

Zayn grips the puffy ones with his other hand, keeping Trev balanced on his arm, and holds out Harry’s coat for Tar to take. After a pause, Tar lets go of Harry’s suit jacket and reaches both hands out. He lets Zayn fold it up so it doesn’t drag on the floor, his chubby fingers digging into the material as he clutches it to his chest. “I horld,” he says in a small voice, face shiny from tears.

Zayn takes the opportunity to swipe the edge of his sleeve under Tar’s nose, catching any snot before he straightens and places his now-free hand to Trev’s back.

“I could have picked him up,” Harry says, leaning in to say it in a low tone that Tar won’t be able to hear.

“You are going to throw your back out one day if you don’t start being more careful,” Zayn counters, refusing to sink into the comforting hand that Harry places low on his back. He’s warm through Zayn’s thin shirt and vest, as warm as Trev is where he’s pressed to his side and front, and Zayn forces himself to keep his breathing even.

“I’m fine,” Harry protests, though he presses his fingers more firmly against Zayn as they shuffle forward in line.

Tar stays quiet for the rest of the time they’re stuck in the store, holding his uncle’s jacket carefully like it’s the most important job he’s ever had. His chest still jumps with leftover sobs for a few moments, but Zayn keeps an eye on him and breathes a sigh of relief when they subside. He’s already going to be dealing with one sick Malik boy over the next couple of days; he doesn’t relish the thought of dealing with two at once.

They finally leave after fifteen more minutes, Harry attempting to pay for the groceries against Zayn’s protests. “I’m the one who had the idea of it,” he says. “I’m buying.”

“I can help, though,” Zayn argues. They’re holding up the line behind them and Zayn points that out. “Let me,” he demands, pulling enough cash out of his back pocket with his free hand and passing it to the cashier. He smiles at them indulgently and makes Zayn’s change, nodding and wishing them a happy holiday when he folds their receipt paper and passes it on.

They grab their bags and head to a clearing at the front of the store before they hit the doors. Harry carefully slips two of the grocery bags into his messenger bag, ensuring he doesn’t catch any paperwork in the process, and Zayn takes the bag with the few veggies they had needed and shoves it into an empty pocket of the diaper bag.

“Can you stand for a second while baba helps with jackets?” he asks Trev, who nods sleepily but seems steady on his feet when Zayn sets him on the ground. Zayn’s shirt is warm and damp from where Trev had been pressed to him. He gets Trevor’s coat buttoned up, his hat and mittens back in their respective places.

Harry takes his own jacket back from Tar with a smile and a thanks, slipping it over his suit and buttoning the middle few. He pulls his thin scarf from the pocket, wrapping it around his neck before replacing his bag across his chest. It bulges in the middle where the groceries are stored, but he adjusts it so they’re at his back before he takes the smaller of the puffy jackets from Zayn’s hand.

Zayn focuses on zipping up his own so he doesn’t see the way Tar stands calm and quiet while Harry slips his gloves and scarf on before pulling his olive jacket over it all and zipping it to his chin. He does see the way Harry brushes a hand through Tar’s hair to push it back as he pulls the hood over his head. His heart responds in the same way it always does to Harry and Zayn’s brain doesn’t even let him get upset about it this time.

“Do you think you can both walk a little bit?” Zayn asks, holding out a bag to each of them. “Can you carry these?”

He lets Tar take the bag holding only a loaf of bread while he lets Trev take another small one. He doesn’t mind if the bread gets smushed in Tar’s hold; it’ll be used in Harry’s stuffing and it won’t matter if it isn’t pretty. He and Harry gather the remaining bags in one hand each while they grab a child with the other in a well-practiced routine.

The walk to Harry’s co-op isn’t long. He lives near the campus for Columbia’s law school but doesn’t live in student housing. His parents had tried to talk him into it when Zayn had moved out but he had found it was cheaper to split rent with two friends of his he’d met outside of school so he hadn’t listened to them. It was a rent-controlled, two bedroom apartment with a loft, sizable living room and kitchen, and a bathroom with the best bathtub Zayn has ever seen in the city. It’s the kind of dream apartment only ever seen on the telly, but Harry and his good luck had stumbled into it like magic.

Tar had grown tired on the walk over and Harry had picked him up despite Zayn’s warning. Knowing Trev would stay right in front of him as he was feeling too poorly to wander far, Zayn had taken Harry’s bags from him and let the subject drop. He had seen the small gleam of triumph in both Harry and Tar’s faces, though, and he had just shaken his head in return. They walk up the three flights of stairs together, Trev taking each step carefully. Neither Harry nor Zayn rush him, though the straps for the reusable bags were beginning to dig into Zayn’s palms. It is a relief, though, when they hit the landing for Harry’s floor and only then does he step in front of Trev and head to his door, balancing the toddler in one arm while pulling his keys from his back pocket with his free hand.

He unlocks the door and steps back for Zayn and Trev to pass him. Immediately, Zayn unloads the bags onto the counter and takes the bag of spices from Trev with a thank you and a kiss.

“Anyone home?” Harry calls out to no response. He shrugs and sets Tar onto the counter on his bum, helping him out of his coat and things.

“We weren’t going to stay,” Zayn starts to argue. “We’ve already taken so much of your day.”

“Nonsense,” Harry dismisses him. “We’ve got some chicken or roast beef from the deli down the street for sandwiches, and that cheese you like that mum sends in. If the bread isn’t too terribly squished,” he adds, directing his words to Tar who grins bright and toothy, “then we’ll have a quick supper. And I promised the boys a little mac and cheese, didn’t I?”

“Harry, don’t let us impose. I’m sure you have other things you could be doing.”

Harry doesn’t answer but Zayn can tell by the way Tar laughs that he’s just pulled a face or rolled his eyes. Zayn shakes his head but doesn’t protest any further- a habit he’s forming, he notes. He just lowers himself to one knee so he’s of a height with Trev. He helps him out of his things and his boots, carrying them to the front door. The shoes go on the mat, Zayn carefully toeing his own off, and the coats hang on one of the many available hooks. Harry and his roommates are all social butterflies and they always have tons of people over. Zayn isn’t sure if he’s ever seen every hook taken, that’s how much room they’ve made for guests.

Turning around to head back over to the kitchen, he’s startled when he finds himself pressed up against Harry from head to toe. He hadn’t heard him approaching, and he steps back and gasps in alarm, pressing a hand to his heart when he realises who it is.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry says, his voice seemingly sincere though Zayn can see amusement dancing in his eyes. He understands that Harry hadn’t meant to but he also understands that Harry is still quite pleased that he had.

“Make a sound next time,” Zayn teases, his heartrate returning to normal. “I’m going to put a bell on you.”

Harry raises his eyebrows as if responding to some innuendo but Zayn just laughs and slips around him, heading back into the kitchen to find Tar and Trev both standing on the floor. “We got some medicine for you, buddy,” Zayn says, ruffling Trev’s hair. “If you ask nicely, I’m sure your Uncle Harry will let you have some juice and a nice nap in his bed.”

Trev nods but doesn’t ask anything when Harry returns. He just walks over to his baba and grabs his stomach, bending at the waist and throwing up on Zayn’s socks.

“Oh, fuh-fudge,” Zayn checks himself lamely, trying not to focus on what his toes are feeling as he sees fat tears forming in Trev’s hazel eyes. Trev doesn’t whine as he starts to cry, just continues holding his tummy as the tears fall and hit his ruddy cheeks. “Oh, beta,” Zayn says, picking Trev up so he doesn’t step in his own mess.

“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry,” Harry says, pulling Tar near him to keep him away from it as well.

Zayn toes off his socks quickly, continuing to force himself to ignore the feel of the semi-solid splooge as he carries Trev across the tile floor and into the bathroom.

“How long have you felt poorly?” he asks in a falsely cheerful tone, starting the bath one-handed before putting Trev down and helping him out of his glasses and clothes.

“All day, baba,” Trev replied, lifting one arm at a time for Zayn to pull his shirt off before placing his hands back on his middle. “My tummy hurts.”

“I know, babe,” Zayn sympathises, checking the temperature of the water before lifting Trev over the side. The lavender clawfoot tub is steeper on the ends but dips a bit in the middle, making it easy for Zayn to clean off Trev quickly without making too much of a mess. There’s a separate shower unit in the corner of the bathroom but the tub has a handheld shower head as well and Zayn steps inside when Trev is almost done, rinsing off his feet and the bottoms of his dress slacks before stepping back out and rolling them up so they won’t drip.

He drains the small amount of water that had built up, grabbing an oversized towel from the closet tucked behind the door. He picks Trev up with it and dries him off. He hadn’t washed his hair but he still runs the towel along his hairline, ensuring it’s perfectly dry, before wrapping it around his shoulders and resting his glasses back on his face.

“All good,” he chirps, answering Trev’s small smile with one of his own. A knock at the door sounds and Zayn turns to see Harry sticking his head through the opening and grinning. “I brought a change of clothes for Trev,” he says, stepping inside and holding up one of the pairs of pajamas they keep at Harry’s flat for any emergencies like today.

“Thank you,” Trev asks in a small tone, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Aw, buddy, what’s wrong?” Harry asks, coming closer and crouching down.

“I’m sorry I got sick and made a mess,” Trev says, a wave of new tears pearling on his lash lines.

“It’s okay,” Zayn and Harry answer at the same time.

“We just want you to feel better,” Zayn says.

“We all get poorly sometimes,” Harry adds.

“I can help clean up.”

“You are going to take some medicine and have a bit of a sleep,” Harry corrects him.

“We probably shouldn’t stay now,” Zayn starts to say but Harry shushes him.

“We’re all going to stay. I’m going to take Trev now to get some medicine and some sleep. Tar is in Lou’s room playing with some of Lux’s toys. You are going to take a bath.”

“Harry, I’m not-“

“It’s all under control. Lou and Lux are gone for the week- left a note on the fridge- and Nick probably won’t be back until the morning. He’s been getting more shifts at the station and he sleeps there sometimes if there’s a chance he can go on in the mornings.”

“That doesn’t mean I take a bath,” Zayn says, though he casts a longing look at the tub.

Harry doesn’t let the argument go any further. He picks Trev up in one arm, his jammies tucked under that elbow, and his free hand roots around in the closet for a second as he looks in, searching for something.

“Picked this up the other day. Thought you might like to try it when you were over next.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you tricked me here just to get me to use this bath bomb,” Zayn teases, taking it when Harry hands it off.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You’re not in desperate need of stress relief or anything.”

“Because law school is so mellow,” Zayn returns.

“I used the lemon one yesterday,” Harry counters before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Zayn waits for about four seconds before rushing to the tub, starting the water scalding hot, and shucking off his dressy clothes. He tosses in the bathbomb before folding up his clothes and setting them on the counter. He next grabs a towel and hangs it on the rack within arm’s reach of the bathtub. He picks up a book from the counter- a selection always left for anyone’s perusal- and settles into the tub, turning off the water before it overflows.

He means to read the book- honest, he does- but the peppermint scent is soothing, the water is perfectly hot, and the troubles of the day soak away so quickly that he’s asleep before he even opens it to the first page.

 

 

“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t, I wasn’t sleeping,” Zayn says on reflex, splashing a bit in the water as he tries to sit up straighter.

“Shh, it’s okay, you can go back to sleep,” Harry says, his laugh evident in his voice.

“I wasn’t-“ Zayn tries but then he sees the amusement on Harry’s face and he laughs, himself. “Okay, I was a little bit. Is everything okay? How are the boys? How’s Trev?”

“Shh,” Harry repeats. “We’re fine. Trev is napping in my bed. He had some ginger ale and some medicine and he was out. Slight fever but nothing to worry about.”

“Is Tar being cranky? I can take him out for a bit or-“

“Why do you fight it so hard when I try to help you?” Harry asks, taking a seat on the edge of the tub. The sides must be digging into his bum something awful but he doesn’t look uncomfortable in any way. “Tar is conked out, too. He fell asleep on the sofa.”

Zayn doesn’t even intend to but he feels himself relaxing against the tub again, his head resting on the small pillow that’s attached to the rim. There’s something special about the way that he trusts Harry with his children- it’s above and beyond his trust with anyone else. He knows Harry’s watered down the ginger ale, he knows he took Trev’s temp with the one that’s just a quick swipe of his forehead. He knows Harry has Spongebob on or something similar if there were no DVDs left behind. He knows Harry takes care of his boys the same way Zayn does.

“This bath bomb is the best one yet,” he says.

“I thought you’d like it. A bit Christmas-y.”

“Too early,” Zayn protests with a smile.

Harry grins back and starts to sing. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas-“

“It isn’t even past Thanksgiving yet!” Zayn shouts, splashing him enough that several drops darken the fabric of the sweatpants he’s now wearing. Harry looks up at him, a thin veil of shock covering the amusement in his expression. Zayn lifts a finger in warning. “No Christmas. Not yet. Not until December.”

They’re silent for a moment, only the drip of water from Zayn’s raised hand making any sound in the room, until Harry takes a quick, deep breath and sings “Dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleigh,” before Zayn has had enough and lunges forward to splash him more.

The tub offers little support, though, and he slides against the porcelain as he makes his attack. To compensate for his loss of balance, he grips onto Harry’s thigh. In hindsight, Zayn will recognize that this was the mistake. Harry, laughing and shrieking as if sound will keep the water back, tries to grab Zayn’s arms but he slips on the edge and ends up making a splash of his own as his bum smacks against and then into the water.

It is with horror and only a little bit of amusement that Zayn looks on. He puts his palm to his mouth, eyes wide as he watches Harry’s arms get underneath him quickly, trying to push himself up, but he slips and his entire upper half goes under. It’s only a second before he’s sitting up again. His hair is hanging, limp and wet, down the back of his completely soaked black t-shirt. His once-gray joggers are nearly black around the bum from the bath, the color spreading as the nearby dry fabric soaks up the moisture.

“Are you okay?” Zayn asks after a brief staring contest.

“I can’t believe you pulled me in.”

“I didn’t!” Zayn protests, fighting to suppress a laugh at the outrage growing on Harry’s face.

“I’m going to kill you,” Harry promises, shoving off of the bathtub floor and lunging for Zayn. Zayn shrieks with laughter, pushing and tugging at Harry’s torso in turn, the two of them making a mess of the surrounding floor as they wrestle. At some point, Harry’s full body slides into the tub, his feet slipping into the water, and he uses his size advantage to finally pin Zayn down.

Zayn’s chest is heaving with the force of his laughter and breathing. One of Harry’s hands is resting, gentle, between the back of Zayn’s neck and the edge of the tub. They’ve somehow flipped in the battle, Zayn’s toes nudging the edge of the pillow he had previously been using. His hands are pinned between them, caught up in Harry’s clothes, and one of his legs is around Harry’s waist while the other is folded so his knee is pressing to Harry’s chest.

It’s a position that cries of vulnerability, being so entwined with Harry like this, but Zayn only feels safe.

Until he watches Harry’s eyes trail down to his chest and he realises he’s stark naked while wrapped around Harry, who is still fully clothed.

“I-hi,” Zayn says in a near-whisper, tucking his chin closer to his chest to stop himself from doing something stupid, like kissing him.

“Hullo,” Harry responds, still looking at Zayn’s sternum as if he’s fascinated with it.

The water around them has retained a lot of its warmth but Harry’s soaked clothes are quickly turning cold against Zayn’s skin. Gooseflesh pops out along any part of him that’s above the surface of the water, his nipples pressing into tight, hard little points where they’re scraping against Harry’s shirt.

On reflex in response to the cold, Zayn’s leg tightens around Harry’s hip, his toes pressing against the opposite end of the tub. Part of him wants to shy away from Harry and slip fully under the water but the rest of him- the larger part, if he’s honest- wants to slip his left leg down from between their chests and wrap it around Harry as well. He wants to pull Harry in even closer, press his thickening prick to the bulge he’s seen in Harry’s pants before, wants to capture Harry’s lips with his own and lick into his mouth until he doesn’t taste like himself anymore, only tastes like them, together.

Before he can act on any of these wants- and he feels for a stunningly brave and foolish moment like he will finally let himself act on them, on all of them- Harry pulls away. The jerk of his movement causes Zayn to slip a little lower in the tub, but Harry’s hand on the back of Zayn’s neck keeps his face tilted up so his nose and mouth don’t  go under the water. He still flails around for a second, his leg slipping back under the lukewarm water and his arms going to the bottom of the tub to help push him up straighter.

“I am completely soaked,” Harry says, smiling in a way that seems strained when they finally disconnect completely and Zayn tucks his knees to his chest. He’s suddenly aware of how see-through the water is now that most of the bubbles have either been displaced from the tub or just settled into the water. He’s also a little warmer, away from Harry’s wet clothes, and he realises that Harry must be freezing.

“Let me get you some dry clothes,” he says, shifting in the tub. He looks over the edge and sees the complete mess they’ve made, blue and purple-tinged water against the lavender mat and gray tiles, and he frowns at the thought of how long the cleanup will take.

“I bet you’re regretting pulling me in, huh?”

“I didn’t bloody pull you in,” Zayn shoots back, grinning over his shoulder at Harry as he steps out of the tub. He grabs the towel he’d set aside for himself, wrapping it quickly around his waist. He shuffles his feet on the mat to dry them off before stepping across the tiles to the supply closet. He grabs another towel for Harry, ignoring the cold, wet strands of hair sticking to the back of his neck as he turns around.

Harry’s bent at the waist with one hand on the side of the tub, the other hand under the water until Zayn hears the sound of the plug on the drain being lifted. The water glugs down as he stands but Zayn can’t hear it over the sound of Harry stripping the soaked clothes off of him and letting them plop to the ground.

It’s fucking pornographic and Zayn’s mind can’t decide if he should look away or look his fill.

He steps forward before Harry can get to his joggers, practically shoving the towel into his hands before turning, grabbing the pajamas Harry had brought for him, and fleeing from the room. He passes Tar- napping on the couch just like Harry had said- and heads into Harry’s room. Trev is curled up against the pillows, awake but drowsy like he’s just woken. He’s focused on the telly, an episode of Spongebob playing, and he doesn’t notice Zayn at first.

“Hey, beta,” Zayn says in a low voice, smiling when Trev turns to look at him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Sleepy,” Trev says in a little voice, snuggling further under the covers. “Naptime?”

“Baba can’t nap with you right now but I’ll come back in a little bit,” Zayn says, pulling on his borrowed joggers, sans pants, and unwrapping the towel. He runs it through his hair with one hand as he pulls out a dry pair of pants and a t-shirt for Harry. He turns to see Trev’s eyes are closed, though his lashes are fluttering as he fights off the tug of sleep. Zayn keeps his steps light as he leaves the room and heads back into the bathroom.

Thankfully, Harry has a towel wrapped around his waist and another one scrubbing through his hair. Zayn lets his eyes linger on the damp shine highlighting Harry’s waist, abs easily defined but waist still soft along his sides. Harry doesn’t seem to notice as Zayn hands over the retrieved clothes, letting the towel in his hand fall to the floor.

“Go get warm,” Zayn advises, shooing him out of the way. “I’ll clean this up in here.”

“I got most of it,” Harry says, going without further protest. He steps out of the way to pull on his black boxer-briefs, the material disappearing under the towel around his waist as he steps into them one foot before the other. He pulls on the t-shirt next, Zayn turning around and focusing on the remaining water on the floor. “I’ll make us some tea.”

“Sounds good,” Zayn says. He hears Harry’s footsteps as he walks away.

Two more towels are needed before the floor is finally dry. Zayn piles them all into the waiting hamper, climbing on top of the radiator to crack open the crank window and get some air flowing into the room. He grabs the hamper on his way out, holding it with both hands as it’s heavy with the weight of wet towels.

“I’m gonna run downstairs and start a load,” Zayn says, coming into the kitchen. “Do you have quarters? I might have a roll in the diaper bag.”

Harry turns from where he’s pouring out their tea, fresh, dry joggers hanging loosely around his legs.

“They can wait for now.”

“I don’t want the place to start smelling like mildew,” Zayn frowns.

“I’ll wash them in the morning, promise. Leave them by the front door, maybe it’ll get Nick to actually pitch in and do the laundry for once if he comes home.” Zayn frowns deeper, if possible, and Harry laughs when he sees. “It won’t kill him to wash someone else’s towels. But, I’ll do it if he doesn’t come home tonight. Fair?”

 _No_ , Zayn thinks but he knows he doesn’t have a shot at winning an argument. He just shrugs and sets down the hamper, shoving into the kitchen and grabbing his mug. “Thank you,” he says quietly, taking a sip of his tea. He steps closer when Harry holds out his free arm, relaxing into a cuddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Thanksgiving dinner, Harry moves in, and the lads suffer through a second mediation meeting.


	4. gotta get out of this spell that i'm under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken an extra week! To be *fair* I did write a Disney AU and a half for two very special birthday gifts but I do know that I had set a goal of one chapter a week. FAIR WARNING: chapter five might have a similar delay but I will do all I can! You can always come check in with me on tumblr, as I tend to respond faster there.

A foot of snow and the return of the polar air to the city help turn Harry’s small Thanksgiving dinner into a full-fledged holiday feast. With so many of their friends choosing to stay in the city instead of venturing over bridges or through tunnels to visit their families, Zayn opens his doors to give them a place to gather so no one spends the day alone.

Bressie and Niall come in together, pink cheeked from more than just the cold. Zayn laughs at them as he accepts the casserole Niall hands him and pulls his friend in for a good, strong hug. “Happy that you’re happy,” he whispers against Niall’s cheek.

Louis and his family arrive just after the snow has picked up again. Zayn takes their coats and the thick blanket Evie’s carrier was wrapped in to protect her from the weather. She’s just about three months old- the spitting image of her father- and she smiles when she sees Zayn. “Hi, little beauty.”

“She says hi and also can I use the toilet? It took forever to get here.”

“You know where it is,” Zayn says, letting Louis rush past him.

“Gang’s all here,” Harry says, coming out from the living room and giving El a hug and kiss hello. “And the littlest member’s awake and ready to play!”

Zayn rubs Harry’s lower back in soft circles as he lifts Evie from her carrier, blowing a raspberry on her cheeks and frowning when she whimpers. “She still hasn’t warmed up to you, then,” Zayn notes, biting at Harry’s shoulder teasingly.

“All babies love me, this is a disgrace,” Harry says, passing her gently back to her mummy. “I’ll win you over, little miss. Just you wait.” They make their way into the living room together, Harry and Zayn shoving together on one cushion while the others spread around.

Trev and Tar are in their element- they know almost every person in the flat and are hamming it up for anyone who will watch them, showing off their Christmas-themed jammies and the dance moves Niall’s taught them while they’ve been “learning music”. The cats are hiding under Zayn’s bed but they had been meowing at Harry’s ankles while he prepped the turkey earlier that morning and Zayn’s confident they’ll come back out when the bird is done.

“I’m going to grab something to drink. Anyone want anything?” Harry asks as he stands, patting at Zayn’s knee. Zayn shakes his head, smiling up at Harry as he leaves. Bressie follows Harry out, and Zayn shifts so he’s knelt over Evie in her travel play pen, poking her chubby cheeks until she smiles and gives him a giggle.

“Can she play with my Legos, baba?” Trev asks, hugging close to Zayn’s side and peering at the baby.

“She’s too little for Legos,” Zayn says. “She might like Eden, though,” he suggests, referring to Trev’s stuffed teddy that he’s long outgrown. “Would you let her play with that?” Trev nods and takes off to find his toy, Tar staying behind and looking like he’s considering climbing in there with her. “You’re a big boy,” Zayn says to discourage him. “This is for babies.”

“I the baby.”

“You’re _my_ baby,” Zayn corrects, leaning down further to kiss his brow and tapping his nappy covered bottom to get him to move. “Go show your Uncle Louis your new Magna Doodle. He can draw with you.”

“Okay.”

“Anything thirsty?” Zayn asks, getting to his feet. The Thanksgiving Day gridiron game is on the telly and no one spares him much attention other than to nod. He grabs his glass and heads through the short hallway to the kitchen. Bressie and Harry are stood around the island counter, both of them wearing serious expressions. They smile, though, when they turn and see Zayn.

“What’s the matter?” Zayn asks with a grin, stopping in the doorway. “Did you burn the turkey?”

“I’m shocked and offended that you would even suggest such a thing,” Harry drawls, speech slow as he places a hand over his heart and affects a wounded expression.

Zayn laughs and crosses over to the fridge, twisting off the top and taking a swig before he closes the door. “It smells amazing,” Zayn allows, inhaling deeply after he swallows. “You’re outdoing yourself once again, H.”

“It’s got about an hour and then everything should be ready. I hope I’ve made enough.”

Zayn rolls his eyes until he realises Harry is being completely genuine. “I’m sure you were going to over-do it to begin with, babe. Everyone will be leaving here with enough leftovers to get them through the storm. Or at least they’ll last a week.” It was the perfect thing to say, because Harry instantly relaxes and even grabs the beer from Zayn’s hand and steals a sip from the bottle. “Yeah, sure, that’s all yours,” Zayn says.

Trev runs into the room just then, colliding with Bressie’s leg at full speed. “Can we play airplane, Bressie?”

“That’s our game,” Harry interrupts, a pout on his lips.

“Bressie’s legs are longer, Uncle Harry. The airplane flies higher.”

“They were good enough to play airplane last week,” Harry grumbles under his breath in a teasing tone, watching Bressie laugh and accept Trev’s hand. He sets his glass of water down on the counter before letting Trevor pull him out of the kitchen and back down the hall.

“You’re so cute,” Zayn tells Harry, stealing back his bottle. “Trev and Tar aren’t going to stop liking you best just because they play with someone else. You’ll always be their ‘Unca’ ‘Arry’,” he says in Tar’s baby voice. Harry smiles, the Right Rmile, and Zayn pushes himself up to sit on the counter. “I want snacks,” he says, kicking out at Harry’s hip.

“I thought we could talk more about this whole ‘pretending to date’ thing. Form a plan.”

Startled, Zayn near slips off his perch. “Oh-kay. That’s out of the blue.”

Harry shrugs, his smile gone and his eyes serious. He slides a plate of cheese and crackers closer to Zayn.

Suddenly far from hungry, Zayn frowns and picks at the label on his bottle with the edge of his thumbnail. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Should we be living together? If we’re… well, if we’re looking to sell this as ‘Serious’, we should consider that.”

“Oh, that one’s easy,” Zayn says, relaxing a bit and offering Harry a small grin. “You can live here; your stuff’s already here.”

“Only because you’re a thief,” Harry teases, stepping closer and squeezing Zayn’s knee. “You never have to be nervous with me, you know that?”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

Zayn lifts his chin, their subtle height difference reversed with his spot on the counter.

“I’m not nervous because of _you_ ,” Zayn clarifies. “You’re great, babe. You know that. I’m just nervous this-“ he motions with his finger between their chests, “-won’t be enough.”

“She doesn’t stand a chance in hell of taking them from you. I mean it.”

Zayn grins, setting his bottle down and leaning closer to Harry to press a kiss to his cheek, his aim off and settling somewhere closer to Harry’s jaw. He plays it off with a laugh. “C’mon, let’s start the mashed potatoes.”

Zayn hops down, pulling the bag of spuds out from under the sink. He tears it open and pours them into a bowl, letting Harry rinse them as he grabs two peelers and the cutting board. He and Harry peel potatoes in mostly silence, small hip jabs traded back-and-forth until all the nervous tension Zayn had felt before is gone and they have a pot of potatoes softening on the stove.

“How long have we been dating?” Harry asks.

Zayn shrugs, swiping away the skins. “Long enough it’s ‘Serious’,” he mocks.

“Five minutes with you and anyone would be serious about it.”

“Explains why I’m still single, then.” He’s flushed dark, eyes cast down as he ties the bag of scraps and throws them in the bin. “Just under a year?” he suggests.

“Almost a year,” Harry says, stirring with one hand and brushing his fringe behind his ear with the other. “Oh!” he says, “Our first kiss was New Year’s Eve at midnight last year!”

Zayn snorts.

“What?” Harry pouts. “That’s a great story.”

“Kind of cliché.”

“Easy to remember, though. We were here, with the boys, and pretended to have “midnight” at eight o’clock or something, and then we opened a bottle of champagne and had our own celebration at the real midnight.”

“You’re quite creative,” Zayn notes. “Been watching daytime soaps again?”

“If my DVR records them, the only decent thing would be for me to watch them.”

Zayn smiles at that, his tongue tucked behind his teeth and his cheeks nearly hurting from the size of the expression. He’s hopelessly endeared and he knows it’s written all over his face.

A thought occurs to him that makes his smile fade. “What about, erm. Well, you just had,” he clears his throat and shakes his head. “You just had a date,” he forces. “You’ve had, well… quite a few dates in the last year.”

“I have not,” Harry protests immediately, splashing some of the water out of the pot as he turns, hand still on the spoon. “I’ve only been on a couple of dates all year.”

“I’m not saying you get around or anything,” Zayn says, coming over to him and running his hand up and down Harry’s spine in what he hopes is a soothing manner. “I just mean… would you be willing to give up dating then? Just for the course of this whole… ruse.”

Harry quirks a brow, breathing steadily. “I wouldn’t be giving up dating,” he reasons. “I’d be dating you.” He throws in a wink for added sincerity.

Zayn rolls his eyes. His confidence comes back to him when he sees Harry’s usual bullshit charm at work. He’s watched Harry chat up random people all over the city- from men in bars to girls in coffee houses and all people and places in between- and he can handle the playful flirting. It reminds him that this isn’t real- it’s like a game: a game with high stakes, but a game with rules and moves nonetheless.

Rule #1: Do whatever it takes to keep the boys  
Rule #2: Don’t forget that this… is _not_ real

Before he can say anything else- make another move, flirt a bit back, shut the whole thing down and run under the table to hide away- Trev comes running into the kitchen. The boy launches forward, flinging himself at Harry’s knees and holding tight. “Uncle Harry!” he shouts as if he hasn’t seen Harry all day.

“Hey, bubba,” Harry says, quickly stepping away from the hot stove and picking Trev up to settle him on his hip. “Did you have fun playing airplane with Bressie?”

The Malik in Trev knows exactly how to handle the Styles pout and passive aggression, toddler style. “Not as much… much fun as you, with you,” Trev insists, tripping over his words as he pushes his glasses more firmly up his face before pouting back and hugging Harry around the neck.

“But Brez has longer legs,” Harry reminds Trev.

“Wow,” Zayn stays, stepping into Harry’s place at the stove to check the potatoes. A few minutes left, he thinks.

Trev is shaking his head enough his glasses go askew again and he only stops to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “I like it with you,” he affirms. “Baba says, though, that we have to be careful with you.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asks him.

“Because you have a bad back.”

“I do say that,” Zayn agrees with a smile.

Harry glances his way and bounces Trev on his hip, using one hand to fix his glasses. “C’mon bub, let’s go play some airplane of our own. Baba’s going to finish the potatoes.”

“Harry!”

“You tried to sabotage me!” Harry argues, already walking out.

“You _do_ have a bad back!” Zayn laughs, watching them disappear around the corner. He hears Trev laughing and he smiles, cheeks pink from the steam rising from the potatoes.

He ignores the flutter in his chest; at this point, he’d welcome it if it were a heart attack.

 

 

Ten minutes before dinner is ready, Harry in timeout at the kitchen island with an Icy Hot patch stuck to his lower back, the buzzer for the downstairs door sounds. Zayn wonders who it could be- all of his City friends already in the flat- and he quickly reaches the intercom.

“May I help you?”

“Um, Zayn? It’s Liam. Harry’s TA?”

“Liam?” Zayn repeats, confusion only increasing with the new information.

“Harry invited us- sorry we’re so late.”

_Us_. Zayn remembers the smiling little girl with brown curls and a soft pink parka. “Come in, come in,” he says, buzzing them through. It’s freezing cold outside- he feels guilty for them being out in the elements at all. “Don’t take the elevator!" he buzzes at the last second, hopeful that Liam heard.

“Watch the door, Ni?” Zayn calls out, hurrying into the kitchen. “Liam’s here.”

Harry stands too quickly, grimacing and bringing a hand to his lower back. “Yeah, that hurt. Liam’s here?”

“He said you invited him.”

“I didn’t think he would come, though. He said he didn’t have any family in the immediate area and classes went too late for him to get out of the City.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Zayn assures, grabbing down extra plates. He wipes his hands on his trousers, nervous about the addition of someone his close-knit friends don’t know, and his eyes go wide when he hears a knock on his door. “I’ve got it!” he calls out, foregoing the need for Niall to keep on the lookout. “I’ve got it,” he repeats when he passes Niall in the doorway to the living room. “Go, erm… I guess we can go in the kitchen now.”

He pulls the door open quickly, a rush of cold air coming in with Liam and Abigail. “Let me take your coats,” he says. “Hi, Abigail.”

“Hi, Mr. Zayn,” she says politely, letting Zayn help her out of her coat and hat. “Do you like my hand muff?” she asks, holding it up for him to see.

“Looks very warm and… fluffy,” he says, taking it from her as well and placing it in her hood. “Hi, Liam. Sorry for the confusion- I didn’t expect any more guests but you’re more than welcome.”

“Thank you for having us. We… well, I messed up the turkey because I forgot to put it in on time but my mac and cheese is phenomenal.” It’s with a shrug and wry grin that Liam hands over a wrapped casserole dish. It’s still warm against Zayn’s hands and he smiles in surprise.

“That’s so nice,” Zayn says, closing the door behind them. “We’ve got so much food,” he says, “and we’re just getting ready to sit down now.”

“I like mashed potatoes,” Abby says with a nod, slipping one hand into her father’s and brushing her brown hair back with the other.

“Do you like turkey?” Zayn asks, leading them down the hallway to the kitchen.

“A little,” she says. “But not as much as the potatoes.”

“Me too,” Zayn agrees. “And rolls.”

“Abby likes my mac and cheese the best though, yeah?” Liam cuts in, earning a shrug from Abigail that makes him and Zayn both break out into laughter.

They step through to the crowded kitchen, Zayn quickly making the introductions. Harry’s up again, readying two extra places in the cramped kitchen space, and he turns to greet Abby and Liam with a big smile and bigger hugs. “Let’s eat,” he says, herding them into their seats. “Abby, do you want gravy on your potatoes?”

“No thank you, Mr. Harry.”

Zayn takes his seat between his sons, letting Harry bask in the glory of doling out the food, everyone oooh-ing and aaah-ing in turn when he passes around full plates that smell mouth-wateringly well. Zayn cuts up Tar’s pieces while Trev picks at his dish disinterestedly and Harry soon settles down on Trev’s other side with his own plate, convincing Trev to eat a bit more and even getting the shy boy to join in a conversation with him and Liam about the still-hidden cats.

 

 

Just as Zayn suspected, dinner ends with him upending his cabinets and cupboards in search of adequate takeaway containers. Not a single guest leaves without at least two in their hands, Liam and Abby taking home almost half of the dark meat alone as they couldn’t stop snacking on it even after refusing another helping. Zayn squirrels away some of their mac and cheese- both of his boys having pronounced it the best thing they ate that night. Thankfully, that declaration hadn’t been said when Harry could hear.

Liam’s hands are full but he accepts another hug from Harry before holding out his hand for Zayn to shake. Zayn laughs, feeling awkward. “We’ve shared a meal and you’re helping me keep my boys,” Zayn says, opening his arms. Liam smiles back and it’s a little awkward to hug around the Tupperwares in Liam’s hold but Zayn presses close anyway. “Thank you for everything, Liam,” he whispers near Liam’s ear, his cheeks burning where they press almost close enough that his whiskers brush against Liam’s own bristles.

“It’s my job to protect children and their parents.”

“Well, it’s Thanksgiving so, in the spirit of the day,” Zayn says with another shrug as he pulls back. “I’ll owe you everything if this goes our way.”

“It will,” Liam says, his cheeks pink above his beard.

“Sorry,” Zayn laughs, taking a step back before leaning down to give Abby a proper handshake as she grins and bounces on her feet, somehow still wired while Trev are Tar are napping together on the sofa.

“Have a good night, Zayn.”

Zayn closes the door behind the two of them, the last of the guests to leave, and rests his forehead against it as he sags from exhaustion.

“Tired?” Harry asks.

“Somehow, though I did hardly any of the work.”

“Those potatoes were lovely.”

Zayn smiles, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, as he turns his head to look over at Harry. “Better than you could have done?” he asks.

Harry pretends to think about it before he smiles and nods. “Better than mum’s.”

Zayn laughs and shoves off from the door. “Now I know you’re lying. Help me put the boys down?”

They work as a seamless unit, Harry curling his arms under Tariq while Zayn picks up Trev and the two of them head off single file to their room. Trev is half-awake, just enough to step into his jammies and hold his arms up for his shirt, but Tar is out cold so Harry carefully tugs off his nice clothes and folds them off to the side.

Zayn and Harry kiss each boy on their foreheads, whispering good nights before walking out and carefully closing the door behind them.

“Guess I should head home, then,” Harry says.

“It’s late; why don’t you just… stay here?”

Harry smiles and steps closer, reaching a hand out to circle Zayn’s wrists with his fingers. “I’m going to get out of your hair for the night,” he says in a low tone, tugging at Zayn’s arm to pull him into his chest. His arm wraps around Zayn’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze and Zayn lets himself melt into the hug. “You should get some sleep,” Harry says into his hair, not letting go. “I can start bringing some things over tomorrow if you don’t mind.”

“I would offer to help you pack,” Zayn says into the collar of Harry’s shirt, “but I think the little monsters will make it twice as hard.”

Harry laughs as he pulls back. “You’re probably right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll just help get your things in here,” Zayn compromises in nearly a whisper. “See you tomorrow.”

There’s tension in the air, the day of playing hosts together culminating in this moment, and Zayn thinks Harry would kiss him if he just… tilts his chin up and closes his eyes. His lashes brush his cheeks in a long blink and Harry leans in, his scent drifting over Zayn just as his lips brush Zayn’s cheek in an innocent peck. Disappointment settles in Zayn’s chest but he smiles when he opens his eyes and leans back.

“Good night.”

Harry’s smile is faded and his eyes dark in the shadows in the hallway. “Night, Zayn.”

 

 

“Do you collect boulders?” Zayn grunts, carrying a heavy duffle bag over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold of his flat. His knees feel like jelly from the stairs and the added weight and he takes a second with his hand on the wall to steady himself as Harry comes out of the bedroom and grabs the bag from him.

“Why did you grab the one with my school books?” Harry teases.

“I thought your books would be in your book _bag **,”**_ Zayn stresses. “I had already seen yours on your shoulders earlier. How many bags of books do you have?”

“I’m a law student. I have dozens of books.”

“They all had to be moved in here?” Zayn grumbles with a grin, pushing off from the wall and heading into his room. They’ve already moved in Harry’s clothes and Zayn’s closet is completely full, all of the garments pressed together so tightly he knows he’ll need jaws of life to pull out something to wear Monday morning.

“I need them often and it will help make this feel real so it’s easier to keep it up.”

“I think we’re heading for a breakup,” Zayn snorts, sliding over a stack of Harry’s clothes so he can plop down on his mattress. “You’re gonna have to get Louis or Niall to help you take your stuff out, though.”

“Aww, baby, we can work through it,” Harry cajoles, picking up the pile of shirts and slipping them into a cleared-out drawer. “Don’t throw it all away, our love, our love,” he sings with his back still turned, hips shaking.

“Bee gee!” Tar shouts from the next room, running in though Zayn had asked them to play quietly in their room for a little bit. He doesn’t mind, though, and just lifts his baby onto the bed next to him. If he’s taking a little break, they can, too.

“Your toddler knows the Bee Gees,” Harry smiles, turning around and kneeling up onto the bed.

“Niall’s taught him well,” Zayn shrugs.

“You wanna sing with us?” Harry asks Tar, who smiles and nods.

His tongue is hanging out as he chirps “yes yes!”

Zayn’s about to belt out a bit of _Staying Alive_ but then he hears Trev shout from the hallway and he’s instantly on his feet, barreling from the room. Trev’s standing near the front door, feet firmly inside the flat though his head is poking out. “Jasper!” he calls before he turns, hearing Zayn come up behind him. “Baba, Jasper runned out.”

“Damn cat,” Harry growls behind them and Zayn takes a second in-between the fast pace of his heart beating and his lungs screaming to turn around and look back. Harry’s got Tar on his hip, a serious expression on his face though he’s slowly brightening as he assesses the situation. “You alright?” he says to Zayn in a lower tone.

“Just… panicked,” Zayn says with a forced grin. He sets a hand gently on Trev’s shoulder. “You scared me, sweetie,” he says, crouching down to meet Trev’s eye. “If a door is left open on accident, come tell baba or Uncle Harry, okay?”

“Jasper runned away,” Trev says with a pout, curling into Zayn’s shoulder.

“He knows where his dinner’s coming from,” Zayn reassures. “He’ll be back soon. He can’t get into the stairwell and is probably hiding down by Mrs. Latimer’s door because it’s far from Harry.”

“Hey,” he hears behind him. And then, “Yeah, no, that’s actually fair.”

“Let’s shut the door for a second and finish tidying the big bedroom and then we’ll go see if he wants to come back inside.”

Trev nods and takes the hand Zayn offers him, using his free one to tug his glasses back up around his ears and he even smiles when he sees Tariq watching. “Hi baby,” he says, patting at Tar’s foot.

“Big boy,” Tar says with a glare, struggling out of Harry’s hold and following his baba and brother into the bedroom.

“Does the big boy want to help tidy?” Harry asks.

“No,” Tar says easily. “Wanna sing.”

“Okay, beta, you pick the song and we’ll sing _while_ we tidy,” Zayn compromises.

After thinking about it for a moment, Tar smiles and nods. “Okay,” he says before launching into his rendition of _Stayin Alive_ with his little _ah ah ah’s_ in place of _all_ the words that make Zayn and Harry both giggle as they quickly finish setting the bedroom to rights.

 

 

That night, after the unpacking is completed, Jasper is returned to the apartment, supper went smoothly and both boys are asleep in their room, Zayn curls into Harry’s side without asking and falls into the deepest sleep he’s had in weeks.

 

 

Christmas in New York is Zayn’s favourite time of the year. Every December, the shops put up their twinkling lights and the sounds of Christmas carols float out to the street. The subway is somehow even more crowded with tourists on holiday but people are still pleasant so early in the month so Zayn doesn’t mind shoving himself in a corner for the fifteen minute ride both ways. His cheeks are always chapped and his hands don’t feel warm inside his gloves but he doesn’t even care anymore. It’s Christmastime.

One day after work, he heads to the closest dollar store and loads up a cart with everything shiny and twinkling he can see.

“Did you buy _more_ decorations?” Harry asks as Zayn comes into the flat with hands full of plastic bags, the handles digging into his palms. “Zayn, we’ve run out of room.”

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Zayn bitches back good-naturedly. “It’s the first holiday season both boys are grown up enough for and I want it to be perfect.”

Harry sighs, eyeing the bags as Zayn finally deposits them on the kitchen counter. As expected, though, he starts emptying them immediately and sets things in neat lines as he bunches up the bags out of the way. Zayn hipchecks him as he helps, smiling when Harry glances over at him. “How were the boys?”

“Tar started feeling a little poorly so he and Trev are napping. He might have picked up Trevor’s cold. We can stop for more medicine tomorrow on our way back.”

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday,” Zayn says, brows furrowed as he pulls out mini wreaths he’s planning on stringing up garland-style. “Back from what?”

“Mediation?”

Zayn meets Harry eye, not realising what he’s talking about for a long moment before it hits him and he steps back, hand on his stomach. “Oh my god, I completely forgot.”

Harry looks concerned and guilty as if regretting the reminder. “I already made sure Niall is free to take him tomorrow morning. He’ll be here first thing,” he offers.

“Thank you,” Zayn says, rubbing his palm on the back of his neck. “How’d I forget?” he says to himself.

“It happens,” Harry tries to allow but Zayn rejects it immediately.

Zayn feels irritation rise in his chest- irritation at himself for forgetting and Cassie for the whole fiasco in the first place, and he pushes the bags away from him before stalking out of the room. Harry calls after him but Zayn just puts more distance between them and shuts himself in the toilet. He grabs the hand towel and pulls it from its hook, biting into it and shouting.

It’s guttural and loud, even muffled in the fabric, and Zayn isn’t the slightest bit surprised when Harry opens the door and sticks his head inside. “I can’t _not_ give you a hug right now,” Harry says in an apologetic tone, slipping inside and approaching Zayn slowly. Zayn pushes the towel down onto the counter, launching himself into Harry’s arms. “It’s okay,” Harry says, smoothing a hand down Zayn’s spine. “It really is.”

“It’s almost like I forgot I could lose them.”

“You can’t lose them tomorrow, babe. It’s just mediation, nothing will be set in stone if you don’t want it to be. We’ll have to go to court for anything that drastic. And they’ll have to drag me, kicking and screaming and scratching, to get me to agree to anything like that.”

Zayn relaxes into Harry’s hold, the majority of his stress leaving as quickly as it had flared up. “I’m just so irritated at all of it, every single second of this whole nonsense.”

Harry hums and holds tighter for a moment before they break apart.

“We’ll get through it,” Harry promises with confidence.

 

 

They _do_ get through it, but just barely.

Their mediator for this round is a thin slip of a man. His palm is clammy when Zayn shakes his hand and his smile is awkward. He makes Zayn feel unsettled somewhere in his gut.

Cassie and her entourage are already seated when Zayn follows the mediator into the room, Harry’s hand held tightly in his own. Liam brings up the rear and they take their seats in otherwise silence, Zayn keeping Harry’s hand in his lap with both of his own clutched around it.

During the mediator’s opening spiel, Zayn keeps his eyes on Cassie’s face, trying to read her frown. She won’t meet his eye, keeps her gaze on the table, and her jaw is set in a firm line. Zayn doesn’t immediately understand.

“I would like to begin,” Cassie’s husband says. Zayn shrugs, letting him have the floor, though he only glances away from Cassie for a quick moment. “The most important thing in the world is children. Cassandra and I have the means and the time to devote to Trevor and young Tariq. I’ve held the same position at one of New York’s largest hedge investment firms for thirty years. I make enough money that-“

“I make a decent living,” Zayn cuts in, regretting his decision to allow Richard the opportunity to speak. The man should consider taking a vow of silence. “I work at an architectural firm right down the street from you. I live in a nice co-op in Hudson Heights-“

“That was paid for by your parents,” Richard points out.

“They paid my way into it,” Zayn counters. “I’ve never borrowed from them to pay my dues or to make my ends meet. The boys are comfortable there-“

“They share a room, don’t they?”

Zayn sighs, frustrated at the interruptions. Harry takes over, squeezing Zayn’s fingers. “There’s nothing wrong with brothers sharing a room, especially when they’re so little and so close. Trev looks out for his little brother and hasn’t reached the age where he minds sharing with a sibling.”

The mediator jumps in. “I’d like to ask: what are your plans for future housing, Mr. Malik?”

Zayn looks over, taking some strength from the mediator’s kind eyes. “I’d like to stay near the city if not in it. I’m on a vertical track at my work and don’t anticipate leaving the firm. I’d like to keep my commute short to have as much time as possible with my sons.”

“And you, Mr. Styles?”

Zayn looks to Harry with a smile, answering for him. “Harry’s at Columbia Law for another year but he’s already interning next semester at a firm in Manhattan; we’re going to keep both of our commutes as easy as we can.”

“And if Mr. Styles gets a job outside of the city?”

“We’ll deal with that if it comes to it,” Zayn says with finality.

“They’ll have their own spaces when they live with us,” Richard says.

“You’re a long way from them ever living with you,” Zayn snaps.

“My checkbook far outweighs yours, young man, and I am willing to take this to court for as long as it takes until my wife’s rights are restored.”

“Cassie, come on,” Zayn tries to plead to the woman he had once loved. He ignores her husband. “You know we can work out an agreement where we both get to have a relationship with the boys. It doesn’t have to be this vicious thing.”

“I don’t think you get it, son-“

“I’m not your fucking son-“

“We’re never going to give up trying to get full custody, Zayn,” Cassie says. “I know you’ve done as well as you could with them but my sons deserve _everything_.”

“Including me.”

“What?” she says, head tilting.

“You’re saying how much the boys deserve ‘everything’ and ‘everything’ includes their father,” Harry interprets. “You can’t give them everything without Zayn. Or me.”

“We’re the only family they’ve ever known,” Zayn says. “We can work you in but we’re never letting them go.”

The mediator clears his throat and gets their attention again before Zayn does or says something he’ll regret. He isn’t the only one, either. Sitting between Liam and Harry was probably a bad idea, he reflects, as he feels the tension in both of them and the added stress flanking him just makes him more likely to get snarky.

“Let’s stay on track, shall we?” the mediator asks rhetorically. “Let’s sum up and state our current desires for the record and go from there. Mr. Malik, you currently have sole physical and legal custody of your children with Mrs. Sinclair.”

He pauses for a moment and Zayn assumes he’s meant to respond. “Yes.”

The mediator nods and marks a note down on his pad in front of him. Zayn tries to discreetly look to see what he’s writing but he’s too far away. “And Mrs. Sinclair, you signed over parental rights when your second son was born.”

Cassie’s lips are thin and bitten raw. “Yes,” she says, her voice shaky from staying quiet for so long.

“And you are now looking to regain your custody. Are you looking to revert back to the custody agreement that was in place for almost two years after the birth of your first child with Mr. Malik?”

Cassie glances at her husband, almost nervously. “No,” she says after a moment. “I would like to gain full physical and legal custody of the boys.”

“May I be frank with you, Mrs. Sinclair?”

Cassie nods, eyes closed as if bracing herself.

“There is almost no judge in the world, and definitely not in New York, who will strip Mr. Malik of his rights when there is no established history of abuse or neglect on his part. As it was your decision to forgo finding a balanced custody agreement, as opposed to being court-ordered due to neglect on your part, you have a fair shot of regaining some of your rights. I do not, however, see any path for you where Mr. Malik does not keep legal custody, at least, because it doesn’t seem as if you and your husband will be willing to meet him in the middle. One parent will be given legal custody and will be able to overrule the other parent’s wishes.”

Zayn’s impressed, hadn’t thought the nervous man who had greeted them earlier would be so no-nonsense. It makes sense, Zayn supposes, and he’s thankful someone was able to cut through the bullshit like that.

“Well, mediation is clearly not getting us anywhere,” Richard says, standing.

“Richard, sit please,” Cassie says, reaching her hand up for his. “Let’s finish this one before we decide to try anything more drastic.” He takes his seat, clearly unwillingly, and crosses his hands over his chest like Tar when he’s pouting.

“Cassandra, there’s clearly a conspiracy here,” he protests quietly, so low Zayn can barely here him.

“There’s no bloody conspiracy,” Zayn snarks, completely fed up.

“Zayn,” Liam says, having let Zayn speak freely until now. “We’re all in need of a break. Let’s schedule another meeting.”

“What for?” Richard and Harry say in unison. They glare at each other in sync as well.

“For the boys,” Liam says. “All of this is for them.”

Zayn feels shame heat his cheeks; his pride had made him forget how to rein in his anger. Since the day he felt Trev’s first kick inside Cassie’s stomach, he’s had no other motivation than his family. Letting Richard get under his skin- which Zayn can now see was his intention all along- has warped his priorities. He nods and stays silent, letting Liam and Cassie’s attorney discuss scheduling with the mediator.

He feels Harry’s fingers squeeze at his hand again.

 

 

“Well… that sucked,” Harry says, an obvious slump to his shoulders after Cassie and her team have left. The mediator is packing up, casting them quick glances, but he doesn’t say anything as he leaves. Zayn barely pays attention to him anyway. He slips out of his chair and under the table, poking Harry in the shin. “What’re you doing?” Harry asks, grouchy.

“Come down here,” Zayn says. “Nothing can get us if we’re under a table.”

“Is that so?” Harry asks, tone lighter as he pushes back his chair. He grunts as he falls to the floor, never graceful and always awkward due to his size and the near-constant pain in his back, and he crawls under the table next to Zayn.

“Watch your knees,” Zayn bitches, shifting to the side and sitting cross-legged.

Harry huffs, slouched over so his head doesn’t press against the bottom of the table. “You bitch at me to get down here, you bitch at me when I am.”

He’s smiling so Zayn ignores him, shifting over further on his bottom and poking Liam this time.

“I’m not getting under the table.”

“ _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn coaxes, poking harder. Liam shifts his leg away but laughs.

“Nope. I’m staying up here.”

“Nothing can get you if you’re under the table,” Zayn repeats.

Liam sighs, and Zayn hears the sound of his pen scratching for a moment on his notepad. “It’s my job that nothing gets you, whether or not you’re under a table.”

Zayn feels a flush in his cheeks at Liam’s sincerity and he pokes him a bit more lightly. “Thanks, mate.”

Zayn leans back, careful of his own head, and leans his weight on the palms of his hands. They’re digging into the thin carpeting, but he lets the annoyance distract him from the shitty mediation session. Harry lets him sit in silence, the only sounds coming from Liam above them, until Zayn groans and flops down onto his back. He knocks the back of his head against the leg of a chair, wincing and rubbing at it when Harry crowds him.

“You alright?”

“I’m not seeing stars so I should be okay,” Zayn laughs, getting a fist in Harry’s curls and tugging gently, coaxing him down. Harry rolls his eyes but slips down next to him, resting his head on Zayn’s chest and letting Zayn idly twirl through his hair. “Am I going to lose them?” he asks in a whisper.

“No!”

Both Harry and Liam- who Zayn had thought was too far to hear- answer him adamantly and immediately.

“Don’t make me come down there,” Liam warns and Zayn half-laughs, too stiff and full of anxiety to shake his worries.

“You heard the mediator,” Harry says, curling closer into Zayn’s side and burrowing under his arm further. “No judge in this city is going to give in to her demands.”

“He’s got a lot of money and probably plays golf with half of the judges in the city.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry protests. “You’ve got her signature signing away her parental rights. I still think we should fight her so she doesn’t regain any of them.”

“Haz…”

“I know,” he grunts, nosing at Zayn’s chest through his shirt. “You want to be the nice guy.”

Zayn doesn’t respond, letting his hand fall to the ground. He gives himself another sixty seconds, counting down in his head, before he sighs. “Let’s go and face the world,” he says.

Liam chuckles from above them and shifts his legs to the side when Zayn untangles himself from Harry’s splayed limbs and crawls out on his hands and knees, tugging his shirt back down where it’s come untucked when he stands. Everything in Harry’s body seems to _crack_ or _click_ when he stands and Zayn frowns in sympathy.

“Actually feels kind of nice right now,” Harry says in response to Zayn’s expression. “Might need to sleep on the floor more often.”

“That can be arranged,” Zayn warns. “I’m sick of you hogging my bed.”

It’s a lie, of course it’s a lie, and Zayn doesn’t know how he’ll ever go back to sleeping alone when this whole scheme is over. Harry’s snoring doesn’t even bother him, the rhythm of his breaths like counting sheep when Zayn can’t sleep. It’s a bit too warm sometimes, as Zayn has woken plenty of times with sweat pooling in his lower back just from being so close to the furnace-like heat Harry puts off, but winter is strong around them and Zayn can put up with it until the spring.

“You’re sharing a bed?” Liam asks in surprise, looking between the two of them with his brows raised.

“Only one bed in my flat,” Zayn explains. “One for us, I mean. The boys obviously have their own places to sleep in their room but I don’t have extra space for a guest room.”

“We’ve shared before anyway,” Harry says. “Zayn’s like a kitten, always curling up next to something to steal its warmth.

Zayn turns to glance at him, smiling even though Harry hasn’t met his eye. “Let’s go get the boys,” he says. “I need some puppy piles tonight. Maybe we’ll watch _Hercules_.”

Harry grins and nods, finally turning to look at Zayn. “I’m going to sing all of the songs,” he warns.

“I’m not new.”

Zayn packs up his things and slides his paperwork carefully into his messenger bag, folding the top back over and snapping it closed. “You’re welcome to join us, Liam, but it’ll be a tight squeeze,” Zayn teases, looking over to the older boy. “What do you say?”

Liam laughs and shakes his head. “Gonna leave you two to that.”

Zayn shrugs, “your loss,” and slips into his jacket before pulling the strap of his bag over his head. Liam begins packing up as well, methodically checking that all of his pens and highlighters are closed, stowing them in a small bag and placing it carefully at the top of his bag before clasping it closed. Zayn smiles. “You’ve had a pen burst before, haven’t you?”

Liam grins when he looks up. “It made the worst mess. I’ve never seen something so awful.”

Harry coughs into his gloved hand and Zayn turns. “Right, let’s go,” he says. “See you around, _Leeyum_. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem.” Harry waves and adjusts his own bag on his shoulder, heading out of the room once Zayn takes a step. “Hey, Zayn? Can I talk to you a second?”

“Yeah.” Zayn turns back around, still zipping up his coat. “What’s up?”

Liam’s flushed dark red under his beard and Zayn’s eyes narrow in concern. “Erm. Well, this is a bit unprofessional but I just… are you and Harry dating now?”

Zayn laughs, clearing his throat. “No,” he shakes his head. “We’re still not dating. Just, erm. For show.”

“I didn’t… I mean, it’s none of my business,” Liam hedges. “I was just curious… with the bed-sharing thing happening.”

Rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, Zayn looks down for a second before looking up at Liam through his lashes. “I’m very much single,” he says, reading the situation perfectly.

Liam snaps his mouth shut and nods, his gloves held idly in his hand. “Good to know.”

“Bye then,” Zayn says, walking backwards for a step before turning.

Harry’s stood outside the elevator, holding it open with one hand. “Thought you were behind me,” he says.

“I considered climbing back under the table and hiding a bit longer.”

“Alright, Liam?” Harry asks over Zayn’s shoulder.

“Think I’m going to take the stairs, boys. Have a good night. I’ll call you when we have more information on a court date, Zayn.”

“Okay.”

“See you in class,” Harry says, ushering Zayn in the elevator.

The music inside the elevator is dull and annoying and Zayn snorts to himself.

“What?”

He looks up to see Harry watching him, a crooked smile on his face.

Zayn laughs again. “’M just thinking about how this elevator never works- gets stuck every few floors it seems, but the music is always on. Kind of creepy thinking about it stuck somewhere between fourth and third with nothing but this dull rip off of Chopin.”

“The music stops when the elevator does.”

Zayn blinks. “No? Does it really?”

“Let’s find out.”

“Haz-“ Zayn warns but it’s too late, as Harry steps forward and lifts his hand to push the emergency stop button. The elevator, which was barely moving to begin with, screeches to a stop and an alarm sounds in the empty shaft above them, dulled to their ears.

The music is gone, as well.

“How is it that easy to hijack an elevator car?” Zayn bitches, backing into a corner and crouching down into a squat. “Are you going to start it up again anytime soon?”

“Nah… think this is my version of hiding under a table.”

Zayn sighs and settles on his bottom, stretching his legs out straight. “Well, are you going to entertain me at least?”

As expected, Harry’s first jump to entertain is to pretend like he’s contemplating a striptease. He lifts his shirt until it’s untucked, flashing a glimpse of his happy trail and Zayn has to swallow hard to keep from letting his jaw drop. He covers his eyes instead. “Keep it in your pants, Styles.”

Harry laughs, good-natured to his core, and lets his shirt drop. Zayn pretends he isn’t disappointed. “I think I should take your name when we get married.”

“What the fuck?”

Harry’s eyes are lit up as he leans against the wall panel next to the buttons. “We have to think about some of these things,” he says. “In case people ask.”

“Ask us who is taking whose name?”

“You never know what people are going to ask. Can’t hurt to be prepared.”

Harry’s pouting a bit now and Zayn feels endeared towards the silly man in front of him. “Why d’you want my name, babe?” he asks, humouring him.

“I wanna be a Malik boy.”

Zayn feels his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You can be,” he promises. “Plus, it makes sense that you’d take our name- that way we match with the little ones.” Zayn pauses. “Who, by the way, are waiting for us to come pick them up.”

Harry nods and pokes at the emergency stop button. The alarm goes off and the elevator gives a little lurch but it stops almost as quickly as it starts. “No way,” Harry groans, pushing the button repeatedly. “No, c’mon.”

“This isn’t funny anymore,” Zayn says, pushing himself to his feet and getting between Harry and the panel. He stabs the button, thinking for some reason that he’ll have the magic touch, but the elevator stays put. “God dammit.”

“Zayn, I am so, so sorry.”

Zayn groans and knocks his forehead on the wall. “I know.”

“I never would have-“

“Harry, _I know_. I’m not mad at you. It’ll start back up in a mo’. It just… today’s been a lot.”

“What did Liam want to talk to you about?”

Zayn sighs, stepping back from the wall and taking a seat on the floor. His jacket bunches around him and he unbuttons it distractedly, letting his collar pop up and cushion his head.

“Did he ask you out?”

“Hmm?” Zayn asks, realizing he hadn’t been listening. “What’s that?”

“Liam… did he ask you out?”

Zayn rolls his eyes and pats the floor for Harry to come sit beside him. “That wouldn’t be ethical,” Zayn reasons.

“I also wouldn’t be able to blame him,” Harry says, his knees cracking as he settles down. “You’re a rare breed, Zayn.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, laughing at Harry’s serious tone.

“You’re a wonderful person… the very best father, very best friend. You’re kind and smart and so very…”

“Sarcastic?” Zayn teases, trying to coax away his pink cheeks.

“Pretty,” Harry says. “You’re so nice to look at.”

When Zayn turns his head, he’s met with the deep green of Harry’s eyes. There’s never any space between them, and they’re close enough that their noses brush when Harry leans in. Zayn pulls in a breath, lashes fluttering but he keeps his eyes open because he doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

“Can I?” Harry asks, his breath gentle against Zayn’s mouth.

The elevator shudders with power again, stealing away Zayn’s response and breaking the moment. Zayn feels a swoop in his stomach as the elevator starts a controlled drop to the next floor and Harry pulls away with a sigh.

Zayn doesn’t let himself mourn the missed opportunity, just closes his eyes and remembers how it felt to be a whisper away from kissing Harry before he stands and straightens his jacket, making the decision to keep moving forward. He reads himself the rules in his mind.

Rule #1: Do whatever it takes to keep the boys  
Rule #2: Don’t forget that this… is _not_ real  
Rule #3: Don’t fall for your best friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was close! Up next: Christmas morning with the boys!


	5. the moment you discover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter five! I didn't expect to get it completed this week- I have the scenes listed out and most written until the end but this chapter in particular was hard because every other scene had [add a blah blah blah part here] or [cross-check this date here] and needed a full rewrite, ah!

Though living with Harry again has changed many things between them, Zayn’s ability to successfully avoid difficult conversations or too much introspection hasn’t yet become one of them. The almost-kiss in the elevator has become another thing he doesn’t think about and another thing he just… doesn’t discuss with Harry.

Their third- and hopefully final- mediation meeting is set for the 27th of December, just two days after Christmas. The week before New Year’s Day is usually Zayn’s favorite: his firm is closed and he gets to spend seven days straight with his sons and watch them discover, enjoy and sometimes grow sick of the new toys brought to them by Santa and his reindeer. This year, a cloud of uncertainty is going to hang over Zayn during his favourite holiday with the boys and Zayn does his best to pretend there’s a bright ray of sunshine pushing that cloud apart. Instead of discussing his feelings with anyone- y’know, the _healthy_ thing to do- he instead sneaks off to the shops nearly every day leading up to Christmas Eve, fighting through shoppers and tourists alike in order to indulge himself in some retail therapy.

Day after day, he comes home from work with a bag or two chock-full of toys to be wrapped or candy to be shoved into the pint-sized stockings hooked to the overhang of the kitchen counter. It’s the only makeshift mantle in the apartment, though Zayn always tells himself to buy those taped hooks for the living room so he can put the stockings near to where the tree will be.

Speaking of the tree…

“When are we going to get our Christmas tree?” he asks Harry one night as they’re settling into bed, something dumb on the television that’s nevertheless captured Harry’s complete interest.

“Hmm?” Harry asks, one hand rucking up his shirt to scratch at the hairs low on his stomach. Zayn doesn’t look, not really. It’s only... his head is on Harry’s shoulder and he’s staring at the telly and Harry’s hand just… it’s in his line of vision, is all. It isn’t the _same_ as looking. It’s just… seeing, he guesses.

“Our _tree_ ,” he says, pushing Harry’s hand away so he doesn’t have to further debate with himself. “Our Christmas tree.”

It’s no surprise when Harry begins humming a holiday song. It’s probably not a surprise either when Zayn pokes at his side, getting him right where he’s most ticklish just so he’ll answer. “Geroff,” Harry laughs, pushing at Zayn until he rolls away and settles on his own pillow. “Should we get a tree?” Harry laughs as Zayn feels the shock evident on his face. “I meant, a _real_ one.”

“Don’t try to argue about real vs fake with me, mister,” Zayn warns. “Real ones have less of an impact on the environment; I already checked just in case.”

“Really?” Harry asks, turning to his side and facing Zayn. “Are you sure?”

“I promise you.” Zayn means it; he had done about an hour of research at work earlier, using Google to cross-check different points in several articles he had come across. All signs pointed to using a real tree, especially as he doesn’t have anywhere to store a fake one anyway. “So, when are we going?”

Harry shrugs, smiling. “We can go Friday. I’ve got a final in the morning but I’m free the rest of the day. Do you want to bring the boys?”

“No,” Zayn says quickly. “Trevor doesn’t like trees.”

Harry guffaws at that, smacking a hand to his mouth a little too late to keep in the sound. “He isn’t scared,” he protests. “He’s fine with the tree.”

“ _One_ tree, yes,” Zayn allows, a wry smile on his lips. “My little city boys don’t like ‘forests’ though.” He only makes air quotes with one hand, the other cushioning his head and going tingly at the tips of his fingers. “Trev threw a fit over the summer when Louis and I took them camping.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Harry says, voice quieter but a soft smile still on his face. He reaches for Zayn’s free hand, circling Zayn’s wrist with his fingers.

“I didn’t think about it until just now,” Zayn admits. “He got better when we reached our little clearing but he fussed any time he was between thick trees. ‘S why we came home early.”

“I thought that was because you Maliks missed me.”

“That, too,” Zayn says with a smile, letting his eyes close. “Friday?” he says, fighting back a yawn.

“I’ll pick you up from work,” Harry responds, shifting to his back again. Zayn hears the volume on the telly soften and he keeps his head on his pillow but sneaks back to Harry’s shoulder, rubbing his nose against the sleeve of his t-shirt and letting the familiar scent of Harry’s detergent wash over him as he falls asleep.

 

 

Thursday morning finds Zayn heading off to work early and sneaking off the subway one stop ahead of schedule. He ducks into a coffee shop a couple streets from his office because he loves their cheese danishes and he’s been craving one for a few days now but he pouts when he sees the length of the queue.

Apparently word about their danishes has spread.

He’s about to give up and resign himself to a muffin from the food cart in his lobby when he hears his name and looks to the middle of the line.

“Liam, hey,” he says, brows quirked as he heads closer when Liam beckons. “You’re a bit far from Columbia.”

“We live right around the corner,” he says with a grin, shifting over so Zayn can stand next to him. There might be some grumbles from people behind them but Zayn doesn’t feel concerned.

“Abby with you?”

“She’s with her mom, actually. Until Christmas morning, and then she comes back to me.”

“I didn’t know you shared custody,” Zayn says, shuffling forward with the line. “How is it?”

Liam smiles softly. “Sucks,” he says. “We divorced when Abby was two and had a dirty fight in court about everything- the house, the furniture, the dogs. Her lawyer was an idiot- even in my first year at Columbia Law, I knew enough that I could have gotten full custody and walked away from Scarlett forever. She was an awful partner but an excellent mother, though, so I conceded on a few things and demanded shared custody and now I miss my daughter every other week but get to convince myself she’s healthier having a good relationship with her mother.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, stepping forward. “I know that’s…”

“Oh, shit,” Liam says, shaking his head. “I wasn’t… it’s a completely separate situation from yours, Z. Scarlett never left like Cassie did.”

“I didn’t think you were talking about me, babe,” Zayn assures, securing his bag on his shoulder before reaching out and squeezing at Liam’s arm. “You have a point, though, and I’m glad I’ve got someone like you in my corner. I want the boys to know their mum. I just… want it to be on my terms in the beginning.”

Liam smiles, relief showing on his face that he hadn’t insulted Zayn. “We’re going to win, I promise,” he says, one hand lifting to tap at Zayn’s where he’s still holding onto Liam. Zayn realises and lets his hand slip away.

“Sorry,” he laughs.

“I really like you, Zayn,” Liam says. “I know I shouldn’t- you’re a client, this is so ridiculously unethical- but I would _really_ like to take you out sometime once this is settled.”

Zayn grins, warmth flooding his cheeks. He’s not used to the… directness, would never allow himself to speak so freely, but Liam just says the things he feels and Zayn… really likes that.

“I’d like that, too,” he admits, biting at bottom lip just as they step up to the counter to order. Liam’s request of black coffee and a banana muffin makes Zayn make a teasing sound in his throat but he throws his cheese danish on the order and pays against Liam’s protests. “You let me cut in line, let me pay for your disgusting breakfast.”

Liam laughs, folding up the bill he’d pulled from his wallet in order to pay the tab and slipping it into the tip jar. “I’m going to enjoy getting to know you, Zayn Malik,” Liam says as they step to the side to wait for their items.

 

 

“So… are you excited for your date?”

Zayn startles, hadn’t known someone else was in the loo with him. “What are you talking about?” he asks Griff.

“With Harry. Your not-so-secret lover.”

Zayn glares through the mirror at Griff’s reflection but otherwise ignores him as he tugs at his unruly black curls, trying to get his hair to look like less of a mess. He wets his hands, twirling pieces around his fingers and trying to coax them back against his scalp. They dry quickly and bounce back, though, and Zayn scowls.

“S’not a date,” he finally says when he turns around. “We’re picking out a Christmas tree.”

“So you don’t watch Sandra Bullock films _or_ the Hallmark Channel.”

“...I guess?”

“Bro, you’re going on a date. Why else would you care about your hair?”

“My nickname in sixth form wasn’t _Vain Zayn_ for nothing,” he points out, drying his hands on a paper towel and chucking it at Griff’s head. It misses but somehow makes it in the bin so Zayn counts it as a two-pointer anyway. “My damn hat gets it all frizzy and I just want it to lie flat for a bit.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not going on a date with Harry.”

“Sure.”

“I’m going to leave now for my Not Date and go pick out a tree for my sons to enjoy.”

“Have fun.”

Zayn leaves the bathroom, the door swinging closed behind him as he heads back to his desk and starts packing up his things. Ned stands at his desk, peering over the half-wall of cubicle between them to watch Zayn’s progress. As soon as Zayn’s zipping his jacket and pulling his bag over his head, Ned grins. “Have fun on your ‘Not Date’ with Harry,” he says.

Zayn’s aim is a lot better this time. The dozen or so paperclips he tosses all hit Ned around his nose and chin and Zayn would bet that at least one slips down the collar of his shirt.

 

 

“Have you been waiting long?” he asks Harry as he strolls outside of his building and pulls his scarf tighter around his neck.

“Just a minute,” Harry promises, handing over a cup. It’s still warm, even through Zayn’s glove, and he takes a sip carefully. Hot chocolate and whipped cream flood his tongue and he sighs out through his nose and closes his eyes for a minute. “You okay?” Harry teases.

“I’m pretending I’m in Hawaii,” Zayn answers, closing them tighter for a minute. When he finally looks around, he sighs again. The baby curls at the front of his fringe dance with his breath. He’s definitely not in Hawaii… way too much snow to ever be Hawaii.

“There’s a lot not far from my building,” Zayn says, adjusting his bag with his free hand before taking another greedy sip of his drink. It burns the back of his throat just a bit and he focuses on that- the strange sensation of _too hot_ and _not hot enough_ and even a little _everything is going to taste like chocolate now for a few days_ \- instead of letting himself think about how Harry is wrapping his fingers around Zayn’s free wrist and dancing them along the inside of his mitten-covered palm. If it weren’t for all the layers between them, they’d be holding hands.

It doesn’t matter, though, as Zayn is _not focusing on it_.

Zayn shifts so he’s behind Harry, avoiding a rush of people coming up from a subway station, and it doesn’t matter anymore that Harry was touching him because their connection is broken and they can get to the task at hand… at foot… the task ahead.

Dammit.

They take the turn after the wave of tourists pass, jogging down the steps in single file. Zayn checks his watch- the next train shouldn’t be too far off and they’re as alone as they would ever be in New York City a week before Christmas.

“My mum’s coming in for the holiday,” Harry says when they’re shoulder-to-shoulder again, Zayn’s hand shoved so far into his pocket that the jaws of life would be needed to pry it out.

“No Gemma?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not this year. She’s got herself a boyfriend.”

Zayn snorts. “I bet you love that.” Harry frowns but his eyes are dancing and Zayn can read the amusement in his expression. “You have nothing to worry about: your sister is much scarier than you are,” he reasons.

“And since I’m pretty scary, that’s saying a lot,” Harry laughs.

“You read my mind,” Zayn agrees. He follows Harry onto the train, shoving into two empty seats together and taking his mittens off with his teeth before tucking them under his armpit. “It’ll be fun seeing your mum, though. She’s a riot.”

“I didn’t want to lie to her so I told her the truth about… what we’re doing.”

The whistle of the wind in the tunnel threatens to steal Harry’s words away but Zayn hears them. “What’d she say?” he asks, picking at the seam of his trousers.

“That she loves you.”

“Is she…” _going to tell my mum_ , Zayn wants to ask but he isn’t thirteen anymore and he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“She isn’t going to say anything,” Harry assures him, placing a hand on Zayn’s knee and patting gently. “She’s just concerned. Wants us to be happy.”

Zayn pouts when the thread he has pinched between his fingers snaps.

 

 

Trees and _trees_ and more trees as far as Zayn can see. On his tiptoes. With one hand on Harry’s shoulder for balance.

“Do you see one you like?” Harry asks, not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s laughing at Zayn.

“I just want to see _more_ ,” Zayn laughs, jumping a bit. He hits the snow-covered ground hard, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders on reflex. “I think there’s some good ones over there.”

Harry lets him lead, one hand on the edge of Zayn’s puffy coat to keep them close as Zayn dives between trees until he gets to the corner he’d spotted.

“These are sad,” Harry says, bottom lip out as he looks at the threadbare selection.

“They’re the ones I can afford,” Zayn counters, touching his fingertips gently to the branches. None of them are quite Charlie Brown level of morose but they’re missing branches or have too few needles. They need good homes and he tells Harry as much.

Clearly not convinced, Harry pokes at the closest one.

“Don’t be a brat, Styles.”

He looks up with a grin, pulling Zayn closer and turning him around. “Why don’t we get one of _these_ ,” he cajoles, pointing out the fuller- and more expensive- firs and spruces. “The boys will love them.”

Zayn bristles, though he tells himself Harry is just joking. “They’ll love the tree regardless,” he says shortly, pulling away.

“Zayn…”

“I’m just being sensitive,” Zayn says, shrugging it off. “Everything with Cassie is in my head. And then Griff went and said… whatever, it doesn’t matter what he said. It’s just… I want my normal Christmas tree for fifty dollars, I want my usual decorations and the tree skirt my dad gave us and I want to just… go back to before I ever opened that goddamned envelope from Cassie.”

Harry shushes him, pulling Zayn closer again and giving him a hug. It’s a great hug, a true Harry Styles Classic Embrace™, and Zayn pushes his face into the itchy material of Harry’s peacoat. “I’m sorry I pushed,” Harry says, mouth cold against Zayn’s temple. “Let’s get the tree you want.”

Zayn nods, chin digging into the lapel of his coat, before he finally pulls back. “I saw one I like, I think,” he says, tugging Harry back into the thinner trees and pointing out the one he favours. “It would look nice in the living room.”

“With the twinkly white lights and the blue garland?” Harry says, waving his hand in the air as if he’ll cast the decorations to the branches himself. “I’d like to contribute to the tree, too. I have a star mum helped me pick out when I first moved to the city. She’d like to see it, I think.”

“I’d like that, too,” Zayn assures him. “Ready to lug this home?”

Harry nods, smiling wide again. “Let’s go.”

 

 

Anne touches down early morning on Christmas Eve with two suitcases plus a carry-on. Harry and Zayn insist they take her luggage, both of her bags heavy as they lift them into the boot of Harry’s car.

“You’re staying for four days, mum,” Harry points out with a grunt as he helps Zayn get the second suitcase situated.

“I had to bring my babies lots of Christmas gifts,” she excuses herself, keeping hold of her purse as she slips into the backseat. “That includes both of you, by the way,” she says when they get in. “How are you boys?”

“We’re good,” Harry says, smiling at her through the rearview mirror. “School’s going well, excited to start interning next semester.”

“And you, Zayn? How are my littlest boys?”

“They’re good,” he says, turning to look at Anne through the space between the front seats. “They’re so excited to see you.” He pulls out his phone and brings up his camera roll, sliding through pics for her to see.

“They’re beautiful,” she says, her smile making her look so much like her son.

“Thank you,” Harry says with a cheeky grin, reaching back to pat at his mum’s knee as they pull onto the highway.

“You had nothing to do with it,” she challenges, sharing another grin with Zayn before she settles back in her seat. “Tell me everything about how they’re doing- is Tar toilet trained yet?”

“He’s stubbornly fighting it,” Zayn answers. “He’s close, though, I think. He brings me a new nappy whenever he’s about to go so he’s… yeah, close.”

Anne sighs, running her hand through her hair. “I remember you boys calling me when Trevor used the potty for the first time. I thought Harry was going to cry.”

Zayn turns to face forward at that, looking out the window to hide his smile as he remembers the wet shine to Harry’s eyes. He won’t rat him out to his mum, though, so he lets Harry take over the conversation and listens as he brags about Trev’s artistic talents and Tar’s progress learning his ABC’s. He’s only six letters in but Harry raves as if he’s spelling words that are only found in medical journals.

 

 

“When is… um, when Santa coming?” Trev asks that night after Anne’s left, tugging at Zayn’s shirt.

Zayn’s half asleep on the sofa and he comes awake quickly, one eye opening to assess the situation. “What’s that?” he asks, curling an arm and scooping Trevor up to sit on his stomach, hoping the boy will fall asleep soon. The afternoon of visiting had been a whirlwind and Tariq had conked out an hour or so before. Trev has been awake the whole day, though, and Zayn knows he’s in for a rough Christmas morning if the nearly four-year old doesn’t get some sleep soon.

“Santa,” Trev says, laying out against Zayn’s chest. Zayn lifts his chin so his boy can tuck into his neck, one hand creeping up to his mouth to pinch at his own lips. “I want to see Santa.”

Zayn knows better than to have taken his kids to the mall Santa- the crowds, long lines and loud sounds would probably have put him over the edge just as quickly as his sons- and he doesn’t make promises to them that he has no intentions to keep. They wave to Santa in the Thanksgiving parade from their cozy spot on the sofa watching the telly and that’s it; no need for mall Santas in their lives. “Santa’s going to come soon,” he says. “He’s going to bring you and your little brother some presents in the morning.”

“Tar doesn’t like presents.”

Zayn snorts at that, Trev’s scalp warm against his neck. “Is that so?”

“I think he’ll give to me. It’s okay.”

“It’s okay if he gives them to you?” Zayn clarifies, feeling Trev nod. “We’ll see, beta. I think Tar will want to keep his own toys.”

“Maybe.”

“You ready to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

“You can come lie down with Uncle Harry and me if you try really hard to go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, nodding frantically. His cheek is pressed to the charms on Zayn’s necklaces and the metal pushes against his chest through his thin t-shirt. “I promise.”

Zayn shifts up, one hand to Trev’s back to keep them pressed together before he’s sitting properly and can make an attempt to stand.

“Getting old,” Harry says from the doorway, startling Zayn.

“I didn’t hear you come back from taking your mum,” he laughs, adjusting Trev in his hold. He’s already half-asleep, dead weight in Zayn’s arms, and he decides to put Trevor in his own bed for the night. “Thought you’d might stay at your place with her. Was looking forward to having my bed to myself.”

“Keep joking like that and I’ll start to believe you,” Harry says, standing out of the way to let Zayn pass. “I grabbed a little… treat for us,” he says, holding up a bottle of red.

“Yes, please!”

Zayn stumbles into the bedroom, the same rug that he trips on most night catching his toes and making his next step hit harder. He bites back a curse when he realises Trev hasn’t stirred, his breaths still steady. Zayn sets him down in his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Love you, jaan.”

He checks on Tar in his crib, coaxing his baby’s thumb from his mouth and tucking some wild curls behind his ear.

“It’s going to be time for Tar’s first haircut soon,” Zayn says, padding back into the living room and curling up next to Harry. His knees and elbows are all over the place until he gets situated, and he sees Harry grimace playfully but just prods him again.

“There’s a spot in the baby book for that.”

“I don’t think he’s going to enjoy it,” Zayn says, making grabby hands for the bottle. No sense in dirtying any glasses. “Maybe his uncle can go with him and get a curl or two taken off, show him it isn’t a big deal.”

Harry laughs, yanking the bottle back. “Maybe his baba can.”

Zayn runs his fingers through his hair, close shaven on the sides and curly on the top. “I’ve barely got enough to get me through the winter,” he argues.

Harry sighs before taking a long sip. “Did you hear what Richard said?”

“Richard?” Zayn repeats, confused. “Oh, that jackass? What?” He steals the bottle again, holding it with both hands and turning away from Harry so he can drink deep. He isn’t going to let Cassie’s husband sour the mood.

“Called me a long-haired heathen.”

Zayn snorts, spitting some of the wine back into the bottle on accident. “Ew, oops,” he laughs, wiping at his mouth and nose with his sleeve. “Oops,” he repeats when he realises he’s wearing Harry’s Columbia jumper. “I didn’t hear that- that’s so stupid. Guess this wine is mine now.”

“I’m not afraid of a little backwash,” Harry argues, making grabby hands though Zayn shifts further away. “Fine, I bought two.”

Zayn laughs. “We’re not drinking a bottle each,” he reasons. “I’ll share in a mo’.”

“Should I get a haircut?”

“No,” Zayn says, shaking his head as he passes the bottle back. He wipes a drop of wine away from his lips with the tips of his fingers, aware that Harry’s eyes are following the movement. “Don’t cut your hair because some absolute _cunt_ said something stupid. Cut it if you want to, babe.”

“But the boys-”

“If a judge rules against me because my fake boyfriend’s hair is too long then that’s a case I was going to lose anyway.”

Zayn doesn’t take the bottle back, letting Harry keep it for now. He rests his head against the back of the sofa, staring at the ceiling and willing the alcohol to soak into his bloodstream faster. He wants to forget all of it for just a little while.

 

 

“The bottle’s empty.”

Zayn hears Harry laughing at him but he doesn’t know why. He looks up with a smile anyway. Harry’s laugh is his favourite sound in the entire world. Well, second favorite… maybe third, because his heart literally hurts with joy every time he hears his children’s voices. The soft sound Harry just made, though, like he’s laughing at Zayn but in a nice way, that’s one of the best sounds.

He tells Harry as much.

“I like your laugh, too,” Harry says, nodding seriously.

“I like your curly hair,” Zayn continues, reaching up a hand and twisting a curl around his finger. “Like everything about you, really.”

“Yeah?”

“‘f course. You’re my best friend.” Harry’s face changes at that. His smile shifts, his dimple lessens, and his eyes flick away, staring down at his lap instead of up at Zayn. He should always be looking up at Zayn. “Hey, no,” Zayn says, his hand abandoning Harry’s curls to curl a finger under Harry’s chin and demand his attention. “That’s okay, right? That you’re my best friend?”

Harry shrugs.

“I know you have, like… Nick and Lou and… I don’t know, I mean. You’re so good with the boys but you’re just as good with Lux- better, even, because you _really_ live with them and you just _kind of_ live with me and I just-”

Harry shakes his head violently, Zayn’s arm shifting with the motions. “Don’t- that’s _nothing_ to how we are.”

“It’s okay if it is-”

“-it’s not-”

“-I know you’re not, like, _ours_ or anything-”

“- _yes, I am_ -”

“-but it breaks my heart every time you leave.”

Wow. Truth.

Zayn bites at his bottom lip as if he could take back what he’s said.

“Babe…” Harry says, getting a hand around Zayn’s waist and tugging him closer. Zayn doesn’t fight it off, just curls into Harry’s side and tucks his head between Harry’s shoulder and chin. Safe space. “I hate leaving this place. Every time I would watch the boys, I would linger as long as I could. Being with you- all of you- is the best part of my day.”

“They just love you so much. I’m scared they’re getting spoiled with you being here every day with them. It’s going to be so hard to let you go.”

“Don’t.”

“What?” Zayn asks, pulling away and resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder so he can meet his gaze. “What do you mean, ‘don’t’? This isn’t _real_ , Harry.”

“It’s real for me.”

“Harry, c’mon. That’s your buzz talking,” Zayn says, slipping away before he gets his hopes up or his heart trampled. Or both. He walks over to the other wall, pulling the plug for the tree and poking it between branches so the cats can’t chew on it while the rest of them are sleeping.

“I’m wine-buzzed, that’s not the same as dunk,” Harry defends himself, standing as well. There’s no windows in the living room but the kitchen light is still on and Zayn can see the sharp set of Harry’s jaw between the shadows cast across his face. “I’ve been… god, this isn’t happening.”

Zayn puts his hands to his hips, widening his chest and taking in deep breaths while he watches Harry have some kind of silent debate with himself.

“My whole body lights up when I see your name on my phone,” Harry says, words soft but steady in the quiet darkness. There’s not even a hint of a slur and Zayn suddenly feels like they’re at a fork in the road and the next few minutes are going to decide the rest of their lives.

He keeps quiet and lets Harry continue.

“I think about you whenever I’m not around and I talk about our boys like they’re just that- _our_ boys. I- god- I don’t think I could love them an ounce more even if they were my flesh and blood. Besides the hospital staff, I was the third person to ever hold either boy- behind only you and Cassie. I’ve been here for everything- from their first steps to teaching them their alphabet, it’s been me right here with you the whole time.”

Zayn holds firm, eyes wide as he listens desperately to every word.

“I never stop watching you when we’re together- I know what your lashes look like when you flutter them in your sleep, I know the sounds you make when you drink your morning coffee, and I know the way you tasted when we were undergrads and too dumb to care what a little kissing would do to our friendship.”

“It would have ruined it,” Zayn finally interjects.

“Yeah, well, it was effectively ruined when I found your drawer full of panties. Fucking _lace_ , Zayn.”

Zayn thinks the wine set actual fire to his blood because his face feels like flames are heating him up from the inside. “You went through my pants?”

“Lace!” Harry says in a whisper-shout, as always aware of the sleeping boys just a few paces away.

“I know they’re fucking lace, Harry. You- god, you had no right to look through my things!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“Why did you-”

“I’m not going to fight with you about this! I found them by accident, I wasn’t snooping. I’m trying to tell you- _finally_ \- that I’m in love with you and you just want to argue about underwear!”

“You’re not in love with me,” Zayn says, arms falling to his sides as the fight leaves his body. The wine wasn’t enough to have this conversation. Zayn leaves the room, intent on sniffing out that second bottle, but Harry follows him.

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Harry snaps.

Zayn waves him off, a humming in his brain drowning out his thoughts. He can’t focus on the words Harry is saying so he’ll pretend they’re not there. He finds the bottle in the second cabinet from the end and sets about opening it when Harry’s hands find his and pull them away. “Harry, c’mon,” Zayn repeats in a plea. “Let’s just...  forget this whole conversation.”

“Is it that easy for you?” Harry asks. “Pretend the snogging didn’t happen, pretend the elevator didn’t happen, pretend I didn’t tell you I love you… is it so simple to pretend?”

Zayn closes his eyes, ignoring the tears he can feel against his lash line. He’s always been an open book, especially for Harry to read, and he can’t let anything show. “I have to.”

“ _Why_ , though?”

Zayn pulls away his hands. “Losing you would be hard enough on me but I would be… my whole heart would hurt- _physically hurt_ \- if I fucked this all up and hurt the boys by taking you away from them. I would feel like a monster.”

Though he can’t see Harry, he can hear him: the intake of breath, the slide of his foot against the hardwood floors, the click of his teeth as he, no doubt, clenches his jaw. Zayn opens his eyes when Harry’s hands cup his jaw, long fingers rubbing at the veins in Zayn’s neck as he urges Zayn closer silently. Harry doesn’t ask this time, just watches Zayn’s face for a long moment before he nods as if he’s seen something in Zayn’s expression that he had been waiting for. His hold gets just a little more firm as he tilts Zayn’s chin into a better position. His hair hits Zayn’s skin before his mouth does, the curls Zayn had just been playing with tickling now at his cheek.

“Harry,” Zayn says, though his protest sounds more like a sigh even to his own ears. The scent of him overwhelms Zayn, his breath still sweet from the wine and his day-old cologne faint at his collar. Their lips are close enough to brush against each other when Zayn whispers, “Please,” and his damp lashes tickle his cheeks when he finally closes the space between them and discovers the way his mouth tingles when it finally, finally _finally_ finally, fits itself against Harry’s own.

God, but if the earth doesn’t just _shake_ and nearly _shatter_ under Zayn’s feet.

Harry gasps against Zayn’s mouth as if he can’t believe this is happening and Zayn doesn’t blame him. Immediately, Harry follows it with a groan, his hands leaving Zayn’s neck to slide down his sides. He nudges Zayn’s arms up with his own and Zayn fists one hand in Harry’s curls and wraps his other arm around Harry’s waist. “Please,” Harry echoes in a mumble where they’re connected, shuffling his feet forward and pushing Zayn against the counter.

Zayn tugs at his hair in response, just a gentle pull to guide Harry’s mouth up so Zayn can slide his lips down Harry’s neck. He knows now how the sticky sweet wine tastes on Harry’s tongue and he wants to see what else he can discover. He wants to know what the rest of Harry tastes like.

“We should… your room,” Harry groans just above Zayn’s ear, his breaths coming out in pants as he shucks up Zayn’s borrowed jumper and gets his cold hands on Zayn’s warm skin. It makes Zayn clench his abs in reflex, they feel like straight ice, but it also paints a contrast for him of how hot Harry has already made him; he could power a nuclear plant with the heat in his veins.

“Beds are for closers,” Zayn laughs against Harry’s skin, nipping at his collar bone. “I’m not going to last that long.”

Harry laughs back, pulling away despite Zayn’s protests.

“Bed,” he insists, using his hold on Zayn’s waist to tug him along. “We’re doing this the right way.”

“Have you been doing it the wrong way this whole time?” Zayn snarks, pushing back into Harry’s chest and pulling him down for another kiss. In all, he thinks they’ve moved about a foot or two. A far enough distance for a kissing break that leaves them both dragging in deep breaths when they part.

“Apparently I have, because it’s never felt like this.”

Zayn couldn’t flush darker if he tried but he feels the sincerity of Harry’s words like a lead weight in his gut. “Get in my bed and get your kit off,” he demands, hurrying their progress.

They’re quiet in the hallway- lust drunk but keen enough of the sleeping boys just one room over. Harry lets go of Zayn long enough for them to get through the doorway. He closes it softly before turning with his back to the wall and pulling Zayn into his arms again.

“Can’t follow directions,” Zayn laughs, letting his mouth fall open for Harry to explore as his hands both drag through Harry’s curls, mostly gentle around the knots. “Kit off,” he mumbles when he slips back to breathe. “In bed.”

“Do you have them now? I want to see them,” Harry says. Zayn has no idea what he’s talking about but one of his rings gets tangled in a knot of Harry’s curls and he tugs it on accident. He winces with sympathetic pain, knows how sharp the sting must have been on Harry’s scalp. Harry just curses in a whisper and bites his bottom lip hard, his hands gripping Zayn’s waist tighter and hauling him up.

Zayn gasps as his toes lift from the floor before Harry’s turning them both and pressing him to the spot against the wall he’d just held. The hideous wallpaper that Zayn’s wanted to tear down for years still holds Harry’s warmth and he hikes his legs higher so Harry can grab underneath his thighs and pull Zayn in so their hips align.

“You’re still wearing clothes,” Zayn laughs, scalp pressing hard enough to the wall that he sees stars. Even through the layers between them, he can feel the press of Harry’s prick and it makes his mouth water with need.

“I want to see,” Harry repeats, emphasizing the word with a sharp nip against Zayn’s chin, his hands trying to bunch up the fabric of Zayn’s joggers at his thigh. Realisation dawns.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, a moan catching in his throat and flowing out through his clenched teeth once Harry abandons his attempts to pull them down and just starts sliding his hands along Zayn’s back, destination known. “You really f… fuck, fixated on that, huh? What if I’m not wearing them now?”

Harry lets out a little sigh once his fingers reach the lace waistband of the panties, and he buries his face in Zayn’s neck. “The amount of times I’ve… god I can’t stop thinking about them.”

His words slip down the back of Zayn’s neck, their whisper causing a shiver down his spine. He’s slipping in Harry’s hold and he tries to keep himself up before he realises Harry’s putting him down on the ground intentionally. “How long did you know?” he asks, his feet back on solid ground.

Harry hums in response, his knees clicking as he drops. His hands push the hem of Zayn’s shirt higher. “Off,” he says, ignoring Zayn’s question and keeping his palms flat to Zayn’s belly. Once the shirt drops to the floor with a swish, Harry lets his hands drop, hooking his fingers around Zayn’s joggers where they’re half-off his bum anyway from Harry’s earlier tugging. “Saw them last week,” Harry says, finally answering a question Zayn feels like he asked hours ago as he slides down his clothes so damn slowly. “Went to switch a drawer one day and moved a pair of just, normal, short-like pants and saw all this… fucking lace. You went to work early and had taken the boys across the street because I was getting ready for classes and I saw them and felt them… I would have been the creep sniffing your panties if I had a shred less self-control.”

Zayn groans around a laugh at that, feeling his cock kick in his pants. Harry’s mouth is just right there and if Zayn hitched his hips just a little forward… Harry dives down just at that moment and presses a kiss to the drippy head of Zayn’s cock through the wet lace cloaking it.

“I ended up skipping class because I couldn’t get the thought of you in these out of my head. Haven’t wanked like that since I was a teenager,” Harry says, smiling up at Zayn. “I just thought how… pretty you’d be, how you’re so damn beautiful.”

Zayn pushes Harry’s hair back from his face, both hands running through the curls and keeping his head tilted up. “Kit off,” he repeats the demand. “Get in bed.”

Harry lets Zayn slip out from between him and the wall and Zayn kicks his joggers off from around his ankles before he turns and sits back on his bed, pushing with his hands until his back is against the pillows. He hasn’t turned from the wall yet and Zayn doesn’t take his eyes from Harry’s back, watching the way his deep breathing causes his thin t-shirt to ripple.

In one fluid motion, Harry pushes back from the wall and lifts himself to his feet. He grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it off over his head before he finally turns around. Zayn lets himself look his fill this time, doesn’t make himself avert his gaze or pretend that he isn’t eyeing the heavy weight of Harry’s cock through his clothes. Harry seems to enjoy the attention, his thumbs tracing down the line of hair leading from his navel and Zayn feels sweat beading his hairline when Harry’s fingers disappear under the waistband of his joggers.

“I’ve shown you mine,” Zayn says, his voice already hoarse. “Show me yours.”

Harry grins and giggles at that, pulling the waist forward and letting his clothes fall to the floor. He’s not wearing pants- _of course_ , Zayn thinks to himself- and his cock stands proudly from the thick swatch of hair at its base.

“C’mere, c’mere, c’mere,” Zayn says, scratching his nails down his own thighs. He spreads his legs apart as Harry walks forward to the edge of the bed, the fingers of one of his hands playing distractedly with his foreskin as he stands there and drags his eyes over Zayn’s form. The weight of his gaze feels partially like an elephant is on Zayn’s chest, making it harder for him to breathe, and partially like a cloud is filling him from the inside and lifting him high, higher, _higher_ on a wave of pleasure.

And Harry hasn’t even _touched him_ yet.

“You’re going to kill me,” Harry says as Zayn groans. He wets his lips slowly, his tongue a sharp pink against the flushed red of his mouth, and finally _finally_ climbs onto the mattress.

“I meant it when I said I’m not going to last,” Zayn rasps. He reaches his hands out for Harry, sighing contentedly when his fingers get a grip on the firm muscle of Harry’s shoulders and he pulls at him until their mouths can realign. “Can’t,” he mumbles into the kiss, not sure if Harry hears him or understands. “Wait, Harry,” he tries again, pulling his head back so their lips part with a slick sound.

“Don’t want to wait anymore,” Harry protests, though he plants his elbows in the mattress either side of Zayn’s shoulders and lifts his body away. He doesn’t stop pressing gentle kisses to the scruff at Zayn’s jaw but the way he’s holding himself- so tense, so still- tells Zayn that Harry will let him slide away, if that’s what Zayn wants.

Yeah, right.

“I just… need you to know something,” Zayn says around a few heavy breaths, walking his fingers from Harry’s shoulder to the back of his neck. “It’s real… for me, too, it’s real.”

Harry lets his mouth fall from the cut of Zayn’s jaw and he looks up with a smile- his Malik Smile- and says, “I know.”

“I just didn’t want to let myself…”

“I _know_ ,” Harry insists, turning his head and placing an open mouthed kiss to the inside of Zayn’s wrist. “I do.”

 _I love you_ is on the tip of Zayn’s tongue but he holds it back selfishly. He can’t count how many times the two of them have said those three words to each other but it’s different now, it has to be, because Harry’s slowly letting himself relax back into the mattress, his knees are against the backs of Zayns’ thighs and encouraging them higher so he can fit just… _perfectly_ in the space between them.

Harry sighs against Zayn’s mouth as he thrusts his hips in the space he’s carved for himself, his big dick painting the front of Zayn’s pants when the foreskin slides back from the friction of the lace. Zayn’s far from one to judge, his own cock kicking out drip after drip and making everything wet and extra sensitive. He’s going to come dry at this rate.

“Touch me,” he begs as he nips at Harry’s jaw, satisfied with the red mark his teeth leave behind though he knows it will take only seconds to fade.

Harry nods, eyes screwed shut as he ruts his hips a few more times. He looks like he’s suffering and Zayn feels the same. Harry shifts to his side after a second, though, and lets one hand lift from the mattress and slide down Zayn’s chest. He tugs at the chains there, their necklaces tangled up where the metal sears Zayn’s skin, before his fingers trace their way down to the point where skin fades into lace.

“Do you wear these all the time?” Harry asks in a whisper, sucking his own bottom lip into his mouth as he slips his hand under the waistband and drags the edge of his nail so very faintly against the swollen head of Zayn’s cock.

“Mostly, _fuck_ ,” Zayn answers, his hips surging and twisting off the mattress as if his body can’t decide whether to press closer to or pull back from the pain. “You should try them sometime,” Zayn says, reaching his arms down to grip onto Harry’s hips, tracing underneath his laurels were the lace would end on him. He watches as Harry’s cock bobs and his stomach clenches, and Zayn giggles. “Imagine how it’d feel on ya, babe,” he says, closing his eyes as Harry _finally_ gets a solid grip and starts pulling him off in controlled strokes.

“Stop,” Harry pants, eyes shut again. He rocks his hips, dragging his bare cock along Zayn’s thigh, and Zayn pinches a fold of lace between his fingers and pulls so Harry’s cock slips underneath on his next push.

“Doesn’t it feel amazing?” Zayn teases, clenching his jaw to keep back a groan when Harry twists his wrist in retaliation. It’s all sticky slick and hot between them and Zayn knows it’s going to feel disgusting when they’re done but he can’t even pretend like he cares right now. The man he’s been in love with- god, he’ll admit it, _in love with_ \- for four years is finally his and he shuts his eyes and throw his head back against the pillows as he comes in waves across Harry’s knuckles.

“Beautiful, fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Harry says, letting go of Zayn far too quickly and curling his messy hand into a fist before wrapping it around himself. Zayn would help, honest, but he’s kind of… sated and listless, a little lethargic and so very content to just watch instead as Harry cries out just a tad too loudly and shudders through his finish.

Zayn only moves when Harry’s still save for the rise and fall of his chest. He rolls out of bed, smacking away the dirty hand Harry tries to place on his hip, and pads over to the changing bag tucked between the dresser and the wall. He pulls free a few wipes and pushes down his panties in one quick motion, grimacing as he uses a wipe to clean the left behind mess.

“Not so sexy anymore,” he grins over to Harry, who has one arm folded under and propping up his head so he can watch Zayn.

“Still sexy,” Harry contradicts. “Everything about you.”

“Even my chicken legs and knobby knees?” Zayn laughs as he climbs onto the bed and cleans Harry’s hand with one of the wipes as Harry nods and promises, “Everything.”

Zayn doesn’t answer, just bites the tip of his tongue to curb his smile as he folds over the wipe and passes along Harry’s palm again before curling his fingers and pushing his hand away. He looks at Harry’s dick where it’s soft between his legs and his mouth waters. “Can I taste?” he asks, feeling a pulse shoot through his sensitive cock as he lowers his mouth closer to Harry’s own.

“You’re going to kill me,” Harry says.

“That’s not a no,” Zayn replies, though he waits for Harry’s nod before using his hand to peel back Harry’s foreskin and reveal his messy cockhead. He parts his lips and lets his tongue sneak out for a taste, motivated more by the hiss that Harry lets out than by the taste of them mixed together. “Could you go again?” Zayn whispers as he trails sloppy kisses down until he can suck at Harry’s sack gently. Harry kicks a leg out and Zayn pulls back with a laugh.

“Give me a minute, Malik,” Harry says though he’s smiling when Zayn looks up again.

“One minute,” Zayn agrees, straddling Harry’s hips and wrapping his arms around his neck. “One minute but then you’re going to try on a pair of my panties. They’re pink and they’d look lovely on you.”

Harry laughs and brings their mouths together for a kiss, one of his hands already sliding down Zayn’s spine and grabbing at Zayn’s arse, a finger separating to circle at his hole.

 

 

They don’t fall asleep until almost two in the morning and Zayn kicks Harry awake when Tariq starts whining from his crib only a handful of hours later.

“Why me?” Harry groans, rolling away and burying his face in his pillow.

“Because it’s your fault I’m tired.” Zayn pulls the covers tighter around him, not caring if he exposes Harry’s feet to the cold air. If he hadn’t pushed Zayn for a fourth round- even though Zayn had promised Harry that both of their dicks would fall off- then Zayn could have enjoyed another full hour of sleep almost.

As it is, he’s slept not at all and feels… thoroughly sated and he votes Harry is on baby duty.

But then…

“Oh shit,” Harry says, sitting up quickly. “We forgot the presents!”

Lightning fast, Zayn shoots up from the bed and grabs his robe down from the back of his door. “You get the boys, I’ll get the gifts,” he says as a head rush leaves his vision momentarily dizzy. He ties his robe closed and rushes out of the room almost before Harry can nod.

He grabs the step stool from the toilet and carries it quickly into the kitchen, side-stepping the cats who are fussing for their breakfast. He opens it and shoves it into the doorway to his pantry, climbing the two steps and pulling down the overstuffed bag of presents from Santa. He’s pretty proud of himself for the hiding spot, especially because he can never reach the shelf to keep items there anyway.

He drags the bag into the living room, quickly upending it and realising he’d probably gone… a bit overboard when he quickly loses count of boxes covered in shiny wrapping paper and twirly, glittery bows. He feels nauseous from the wine and his lack of sleep but he powers through the setup and is just brushing cookie crumbs from his mouth when Trev comes running into the living room.

“Santa came! Santa came!”

“Yeah, beta,” Zayn agrees, picking up the plateful of cookies and showing the one that “Santa” left behind with a huge bite missing. “Look, Santa liked your chocolate sugar cookies, too!”

“Yay!”

“Let’s eat just a little breakfast first,” Zayn encourages, leading Trev away.

“Do you think… there was… do you think there was some reindeer?” Trev asks, a double-talker since he first started speaking.

“Of course there were,” Harry says, coming into the kitchen behind them, a sleepy Tar balanced on his hip. “The reindeer take Santa all around the whole world!”

“Horw?” Tar asks, sneaking a thumb into his mouth as Harry grabs one of their rarely used bottles and fills it one-handed.

“Special Christmas magic,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to Tar’s curls as he twists the bottle closed. “The reindeer are given just enough Christmas magic to get them up in the air for the entire night. They visit every house with children and drop off presents for everyone.”

“Do Santa… does he come down the chimmey?” Trevor asks, pushing his glasses into place after he climbs into his chair.

“Sometimes,” Zayn answers, setting down a plate of mini muffins Harry and Anne had made specifically for Christmas morning. “If a house doesn’t have a chimney, though, do you boys know how Santa gets in?”

Trev shakes his head, picking apart his blueberry muffin and eating only the fruit.

“Eeeee,” Tar says around his bottle.

“Bottle out before talking,” Zayn says distractedly.

“Key,” Tar says before mouthing at the nipple again. He hardly uses a bottle anymore but Harry must have sensed he needed one to help calm him before the holiday morning picked up. Zayn doesn’t mind.

“That’s right, baby,” Harry says with a smile. “Santa gets the Key to the City during the parade. You’re so smart, bubba.” Tar puffs out his little chest and smiles, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder as he brings the bottle back to his mouth with both hands.

“Presents?” Trev asks, having finished all the berries from his muffin. “Please?”

“Soon, baby,” Zayn promises. “Have a bit more of your food while we wait for Grandma Anne to come over. She wants to see what Santa got for you boys.”

Trev sighs and picks up a piece of plain muffin before putting it between his lips and eating it like it’s the last thing he wants to do in the entire world.

“It’s not a bug,” Harry mutters under his breath, sharing a smile with Zayn. The morning feels hazy after the events of the night before- which stand out in stark contrast comparatively speaking- and Zayn wishes he’d given himself more time this morning to figure everything out with Harry.

Just like always, Harry reads him easily. He steps closer to the table and cups Zayn’s jaw with his free hand, tilting Zayn’s chin up to make the angle easier for the kiss he swoops in and places to the bow of Zayn’s lips. “Merry Christmas, baby,” Harry says, kissing Zayn again.

Zayn feels the doofy smile his mouth twists into but he doesn’t care, just stands and returns the kiss with enthusiasm, aware of the toddler between their chests. “Best Christmas morning,” he says, pulling away finally and pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

The buzzer rings just then and Harry lets Anne up while Zayn heads back to his room. He opens his pants drawer, fingering over a pair of black lace shorts before sliding them up his legs and letting them settle on his thighs. He’s pulled on a pair of soft black trousers and has a t-shirt in hand when Harry comes into the room and closes the door.

“Mum’s got the boys divying up their presents,” he says, standing against the door for a moment with a smirk brighter than the sun stretching his mouth. “We have about sixty seconds... _what_ can we do with that time?” He stalks across the room.

Zayn grins and shakes his head. “It really is going to fall off,” he says in a monotone, though he lets Harry slip a hand down his trousers and snap the waistband of his pants. “You gonna wear yours?” he asks.

“My _mum_ is here!”

“Not everything has to be sexual,” Zayn giggles, grabbing Harry’s hand and pressing his lips to the back of his knuckles.

“I love everything about you.”

The quick flip to serious should startle Zayn but he feels like he’s reading Harry better than he ever has before and he knows how soppy he can be. “I do, too,” Zayn says softly, thumbing at Harry’s bottom lip with his other hand. “I love you, too. Let’s go open pressies, though. With our boys.”

 

 

“Santa tried to spoil them,” Anne says once the boys and Uncle Harry have bundled up in their winter jackets and taken their snow shoes outside for test drives. “All of these toys and what do they want to play with? Their snow shoes.”

Zayn laughs, nodding. He sweeps a pile of wrapping paper into a garbage bag, pinching with his fingers the pieces that try to escape. “They want to play with Harry, really. They’d do maths with him if he told them it was a fun game.”

“They really are great little boys, Zayn. You’ve done a wonderful job with them.”

Zayn flushes, smiling and biting at the tip of his tongue. “Thank you.”

“I just want you boys to be careful.”

Suddenly, his smile fades and nerves pile in the pit of his stomach. He _hates_ disappointing mums. “We are,” he says but he knows the lie is clear on his face so he amends it. “We’re trying to be.”

Her gaze is piercing when Zayn meets her eye, gentle but searching for something. Zayn knows better than to try hiding his feelings from anyone in Harry’s family and he hopes that what Anne sees is enough to assure her that he means it- the _are_ trying, so hard, and last night wasn’t a mistake but it wasn’t well thought out, either. Zayn knows they shouldn’t have done it but…

When faced with the opportunity to have Harry- really have him, in every way that Zayn had ever wanted and more- Zayn had taken it and that had been one of the first truly selfish decisions he’d made since becoming a father. He couldn’t apologize for it. He wasn’t sorry, but he also didn’t regret it. Last night with Harry had been… amazing; fun and light moments had been interspersed between long intervals of breathless heat and overwhelming _need_ and Zayn would choose Harry over and over again if he needed to.

“You’ve been in love with him this whole time, haven’t you, love?” Anne asks, blinking slowly and coming closer to Zayn. She pulls him into a hug that he lets himself melt into.

“Probably, yes,” he says, so tired and giddy with the rush of finally admitting it. He thinks he’s going to be flying for the rest of the day on just the high of being honest and having a love like this. “Maybe I’ve been very stupid up until now.”

Anne laughs and pulls back only far enough to kiss Zayn’s brow and pull him back in tighter. “You’re both a little stupid but it’s absolutely thrilling to have watched this all play out. Your mum and dad are going to be over the moon.”

“I haven’t told them yet about… all of this,” Zayn says, feeling guilty as he slips from her embrace and stares at the floor. “I don’t know how, it’s gotten so far.”

Anne sighs. “As a mother, I understand both sides- you want to do what’s best for your children but you never stop being a son, yourself. You need to tell them, partially because it’s the right thing to do but also because… you can’t carry this on your own.”

“I have Harry,” Zayn protests through prolonged guilt. Great, now he’s telling Anne that he’s burdening her son with his baggage.

“And he needed to confide in someone, too,” she just points out.

They’re quiet for a moment with nothing but Christmas songs from the radio in the corner to fill the silence.

“Today is a happy day,” Anne says after a moment. “I’m sorry, I just saw how you boys were today and… parents just _know_ when something’s shifted in their child’s life. I can read your glances and ‘subtle’ touches a mile away.”

Zayn laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees, scratching at his brow. “We need to work on our subtlety.”

“I’m going to bundle up and go join the boys outside. Are you coming?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I’m going to get some warm food and drinks ready for when you four all realise you’re out of your minds to be going out in this weather.” The temperature on his phone shows the high for the day is several degrees below freezing and Zayn is not about that nonsense at all.

Anne kisses him again, a soft press on the middle of his forehead that feels like it carries her blessing, before she heads to the door to pull on her winter gear.

 

 

Lunch is a warm relief to the half-frozen troop that makes their way back into the flat. Zayn’s pulled on his thickest socks and warmest jumper, anticipating the cold the lot will bring in with them, and he’s got a big pot of chicken and vegetable soup bubbling on the stove.

“You’re a life saver,” Harry says, pressing against Zayn’s back and leaving a kiss just under his ear.

“No touching until you thaw,” Zayn says, shuddering in Harry’s arms for more than one reason.

His boys are pink-cheeked and all smiles when they come in a moment later, having dashed first to the Christmas tree to make sure their presents hadn’t left. Zayn lets them each bring one toy to the table but makes them finish their whole bowls in return.

 

 

After lunch, Harry leaves with Anne for some family time and Zayn piles the boys and their favorite presents into bed with him, turning on _Tarzan_ and immediately passing out.

 

 

“You’re still cold,” he mumbles when Harry slides into bed, some untold amount of time later.

“Sorry, baby,” Harry says, voice deep in the silence around them. “Boys ate some more soup.”

Zayn can’t believe how hard he’d been sleeping. “Bad baba, falling asleep on Christmas.”

“My fault,” Harry replies, dragging his mouth along the line of Zayn’s neck as he speaks so his breath tickles the top of Zayn’s spine. He shivers and sighs when he feels Harry hard against his lower back. “I’m thawed,” Harry says.

“Barely,” Zayn counters, turning in his hold and taking the kind of kiss he’d been thinking about most of the day.

“Did you have a good sleep, baby?” Harry asks when Zayn slides back to breath.

“Mmhmm,” Zayn nods. “Time is it?”

“Just past eight.”

“Old men, already in bed.”

Harry laughs. “I’m in bed but I don’t plan on sleeping.” He nods towards the tent in his joggers as if Zayn’s attention could be anywhere else. “Since you got to sleep all day, you should do the work now.”

Zayn snorts, nose bumping against the sparrow he’s currently memorizing the shape of. “Is that so?” he hums, getting a grip on Harry’s cock through his clothes. God, he feels good. “Guess it isn’t a bad trade.” He abandons the bird and finds something better for his mouth to do.

 

 

Anne’s last day in town is also the last mediation meeting. Zayn tries to convince Harry to stay behind but it’s pointless and both of them know it. “Mum wants to stay with the little ones,” Harry argues, convincing Zayn with sweet kisses as he always does lately. “We’ll get this sorted and come back here to celebrate.”

“You’ll come back here to take me to the aeroport,” Anne counters, walking into the room with Trev on her hip. “Stop necking and go make things happen.”

“Yes mum,” Harry and Zayn mumble in unison, both of them pressing quick kisses to first her cheeks and then Trevor’s. Tariq fusses around their feet, trying to get Sawyer to play with him, and Zayn lifts him up to give him a kiss goodbye.

“No, baba,” Tar protests, though he purses his lips anyway.

“We’ll see you soon,” Harry promises.

They leave together, the polar freeze that had been hovering over the city momentarily departed so they can shrug on lighter jackets and they don’t have to worry about snow, all of it melted in the forty-eight hours since snow shoeing on Christmas morning. Harry catches Zayn’s fingertips with his own, linking them briefly before he’s holding Zayn’s hand properly. It shouldn’t feel different- they’ve done a _lot_ of more intimate things than that over the past several days- but being affectionate in the open, around people who aren’t themselves or Anne, makes the butterflies come back to Zayn’s stomach.

“I love you,” Harry says with a smile, a phrase he’s used near-constantly. Zayn doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing it.

“You better,” he says back, stopping them just outside the courthouse and sharing a quick kiss to steel his nerves. “Thank you for being here.”

“Through everything,” Harry promises, sappy and sweet. His fingers are cool against the heat of Zayn’s cheeks and Zayn takes one more kiss- okay, two, no, three more quick ones- before he inhales deeply and holds it for a moment. When he lets the air out from his chest, he feels calmer. “Let’s go,” Harry encourages.

Their hands still linked between them, Zayn faces forward and makes to climb the steps of the courthouse. When he looks up, though, he finds Liam stood there staring at them, only a few feet away.

“Guess it turned real,” Liam says, shock on his face but nothing hard in his tone. He shakes his head when Zayn opens his mouth, smiling softly. “It fits, this way,” Liam says. “Let’s go get this resolved before your boys get dragged through a stupid court process.”

Feeling like a slimy pile of goo, Zayn drops Harry’s hand and follows Liam up at a jog.

“Can we talk?” he asks, pulling up next to him.

“Zayn, c’mon. It’s fine.”

“I just… I wasn’t leading you on or anything. Not intentionally, I guess.”

“Zayn,” Harry tries to get his attention but Zayn brushes him off, walking with Liam into the stairwell and taking them up two at a time with him.

“I didn’t think that,” Liam insists, genuine warmth in his eyes. “You’re a nice guy. You’re just…”

“Harry’s guy,” Zayn finishes, rolling his eyes when Liam starts laughing. “It sounded better in my head,” he protests.

Harry’s giggling, too, the momentary tension immediately evaporated and Zayn pinches Liam when he won’t stop raising his eyebrows at them. Harry pulls Zayn’s hand back into his own as they come out of the stairs, the three of them making their way to their usual conference room.

Cassie and her team are already seated, though Zayn’s surprised and relieved when he realises Richard isn’t with them, both seats on either side of Cassie taken by her lawyers. She smiles softly at them when they walk in and Zayn walks around the table.

“You okay?” he asks in a low tone, not willing to let this moment be shared with anyone else.

“Richard isn’t a bad guy,” she says, not pulling any faces when Zayn rolls his eyes. “He’s… he was out of line, and so was I, and I’m here alone, in peace. We’re going to work with you to figure everything out, I promise.”

Zayn smiles, relief crashing over him just as the mediator walks into the room. Like last time, he’s someone Zayn doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t understand why they rotate but there’s so many other things about the system he doesn’t understand either so he lets it go. Today’s mediator is about his age and has a nice smile when he looks over to them. He’s attractive, dark auburn hair and bright green eyes. Something flashes in his expression that makes Zayn feel uneasy and he leaves Cassie with a quick squeeze to her arm right as the mediator says, “Harry, hey,” and pulls Harry into a hug.

Liam’s frowning and possibly saying something but a jealous green monster is growling in Zayn’s head and he can’t focus on Liam’s words because this guy is _pretty_ , okay, he’s really good looking and he’s incredibly too close to Harry in this hug and Zayn thinks… is he _squeezing_ Harry’s arm? Harry, for his part, looks properly horrified and keeps looking between Zayn and the mediator and something really is weird- even outside of Zayn’s panic- because usually this much stuff doesn’t happen all in a matter of seconds.

Zayn shuts off the green monster long enough to ask, “Oh, how do you know each other? Columbia?” in his most forced pleasant tone only for the mediator to turn and smile at him- blindingly white teeth, pretty eyes, pretty _pretty_ guy still touching Harry, _his_ Harry, he's  _Zayn's_ \- and say, “Oh, we've been... dating, I guess you could say. You must be Zayn” and then Zayn promptly forgets almost how to function.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: what does this news mean for Zayn & Harry and will Cassie follow through with what she says?


	6. too deep in love and we got no way out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooooo x 50 sorry to anyone who has waited for this update. I don't know why but it was so hard for me to write and I scrapped a lot of it and started over multiple times. It's here, though, and it's the last "true chapter" though I have an epilogue planned.
> 
> It also might be the least edited because I honestly can't look at it critically anymore. Hemingway Editor is also informing me that 14% of the sentences meet their 'hard or harder to read' so blame Zayn for the head-voice! 
> 
> Joking aside, thank you to all who read this and I hope you guys like it!

“It isn’t that I’m complaining, of course, but… why are you here, love?”

Zayn doesn’t turn to meet his mother’s eyes. He can’t. He stares into his tea mug and pretends he isn’t a second away from crying; his eyes sting with the threat of tears but nothing’s fallen yet. “I lost control of it all, mum,” he admits in a soft voice. “I don’t know why… I don’t know what happened.”

“Sonshine,” she sighs, coming around the kitchen island to pull him from his stool and into a hug. He makes himself small in his mother’s arms, tucking his face into the collar of her shirt and breathing in the scent of her perfume. It’s different from the one she wore when he was young but it’s still her underneath it and that’s what he’s looking for. “What happened, baby?”

“Cassie sued for custody of the boys,” he whispers into her shoulder, getting somehow smaller as he braces for her reaction.

She pulls back from the hug quickly, lifting his chin with a gentle touch from her little finger. “What?” she asks, eyes wide. “What’s that… when did? _What_?”

Zayn shakes his head and shrugs, doesn’t know how to come clean with the truth after so many days, weeks and months of keeping it from them. “I want to tell you and dad at the same time,” he says. “Can we…?”

Worry etched deep around her eyes and downturned mouth, Trisha nods. “Come on, lovey, let’s go sit down. Your daddy’s just finishing up reading to the boys.”

Zayn lets his mum lead him into the living room, taking a seat on the sofa and crossing his legs under his bottom while she leaves him to go find his father. Zayn sighs, the last forty-eight hours still heavy on his shoulders. He feels a bump behind his neck and he turns, smiling when he finds one of the afghan throws his dad has taken to knitting since his stroke. It keeps Yaser’s hands busy and gives him something to do, and Zayn knows they donate most of them to shelters and churches in the area. He’s glad they keep some, though, especially when he pulls it from the back of the sofa and drapes it across his lap.

His mum and dad walk in together, identical looks of worry now on both of their faces. Zayn feels guilty for causing those expressions and he fists a handful of the throw, flexing his fingers in the fabric like it’s a stress ball. They take up the seats on either side of him, both of them reaching out for his hands. His father loosens his fingers from the blanket one by one, interlocking his own in the afghan’s place.

“You can tell us anything, beta,” his dad says, squeezing Zayn’s hand. “But, please, start at the beginning.”

So Zayn does.

Sitting between his mum and his dad, turning his head to look between them but mostly focusing on the threads in the blanket across his lap, he tells them everything. He tells them about receiving Cassie’s letter in the mail, about how Harry was the first one he called and the only one he trusted at first. He tells them about meeting with Liam and hearing all the legal mumbo jumbo that scared him a little but gave him hope because the law was on his side in this. He tells them about Liam mistaking him and Harry for a couple, about how they decided to pretend because he’s been so… desperately and secretly in love with Harry the entire time that he wanted any part of Harry that he could have.

“I guess we thought it would help… being in a steady relationship, having those kinds of roots established. We didn’t want to look like liars, though I’m sure that was an exaggerated fear because the selfish part of me just… wants him. Always.”

“We know, baby,” Trisha says, her free hand carding through Zayn’s curls and rubbing at the top of his spine. “You both are so in love; you always have been.”

Zayn nods, biting on his cheek to keep back the tears. He’s kept it together so far… he just has a little bit longer.

Yaser’s hold tightens when he tells them about Richard- about how self-righteous he was and how much he looked down on Zayn for… no reason that Zayn could see. He gives Richard the benefit of the doubt, assuming his love for his wife had blinded him to reason and motivated him to do anything to get her what she wanted. It wasn’t right how he acted or what he insinuated when he made it sound like Zayn was a bad father, but Zayn admits that Harry would have done the same exact thing if the position were reversed. In fact, Harry _had_ done the same thing; he’d never given Cassie a chance. Harry was a kind person and always gracious but something about the little ones made him a different person. He tells them that maybe Richard was the same.

Zayn would never be a fan of Richard, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand the thought process.

His parents stay quiet as he admits he and Harry crossed a line on Christmas Eve, how they had both confessed a lot of feelings and how relieved he had felt when he woke up and there was nothing weird between them. His voice breaks a little when he tells them about the mediator- Michael, he’d learned. Michael who said he and Harry had been _dating_ , present tense, ownership implied. They were _dating_ and Harry had never told him. He leaves as much jealousy out of his voice as possible, trying to be objective. He knows his words are coloured green, though, especially when he admits that he doesn’t even know when or if they had ever stopped dating because he hadn’t stuck around long enough to hear the story.

“I went straight home and grabbed the boys. I didn’t even tell Anne what was happening; I think I made her really worried. I took them to Louis’ for the night and booked a flight when I couldn’t sleep, the boys on either side of me completely unaware of what I was doing. They cried the whole way across the Atlantic and I kept telling them Harry’s going to see them soon because they’re asking for him and I can’t-” he hiccups, tears finally warm on his cheeks- “I can’t do this without him. I’ve never done it before and I wouldn’t want to.”

“Even with Michael, whatever the story is?” Yaser asks.

“Even with,” Zayn confirms, taking his hands back to wipe angrily at his cheeks. “Even if I never get the answer I want from him, he’s helped raise them with me and they deserve to have him in their life.”

“Beta…”

“No, I know. I deserve good things, too,” he says, finishing his father’s sentence. “I just… everything is a mess and I don’t know how to fix it now. I only know that I want Harry. I miss him every second and I…”

“You can be a father without him, sonshine,” Trisha says, filling in the silence.

Even though Zayn isn’t as sure as she seems to be, he nods in agreement. “I think I could. I mean… I guess I know that I could. I just don’t want to. I love the boys but I want them to have everything- I want them to have me, and Harry, and even Cassie and Richard. I want them to have love.”

He hasn’t looked up from the blanket in a few minutes, not ready to see the sympathy or even the possible betrayed look on his parents’ faces after telling them he hadn’t felt comfortable confiding in them from the beginning. He knows they’ll forgive him- they’re the best people in the entire world that way- but he knows he’ll never forgive himself for letting everything spiral without going to his family for help.

“I’m so sorry,” he finishes, wiping at his nose with the hem of his jumper’s sleeves.

“Oh, love,” his mum sighs, leaning away from him and returning quickly with a handful of tissues.

“Thank you,” he says, trying to blot his nose discreetly. “I know this is a lot to process. You alright, dad?”

Yaser smiles at him indulgently when Zayn turns to meet his eye. He leans in and kisses Zayn’s forehead and pulls him into a hug. The angle is weird but the hug is solid, and Zayn melts into his father’s hold. “I’m okay. I have my three favourite boys in the entire world in my house: I’ve never been better,” he promises. “I’m just sorry you and Harry went through all of this alone.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Zayn admits, trying to push his hair back. It’s in the awkward stage where it’s long enough to be bothersome but not long enough to tuck behind his ears and it flops right back where it was when he lets his hand fall. “I thought I could take care of it.”

“At least you have Harry,” Trisha says, her fingers replacing his and somehow magically making his curls stay back for a moment, long enough for her to meet his eye. “You’re going to have to face him eventually, baby. He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend,” Zayn protests, earning a lovely smile just as he knew he would.

“You’re mine, too.”

 

 

“Is Unc’Arry commin?”

Zayn purses his lips where Tar can’t see him.

“Not yet, baby,” Yaser says, the two of them lifting him from the ground by an arm each and swinging him forward. His giggles shake his whole body and he stomps his feet when he’s back on solid ground.

“Again!” he demands.

“Say ‘please’,” Zayn reminds.

“Prease again!”

They swing him forward, sharing a smile over his head. They’re bundled up so only their eyes show, enjoying a cold but sunny day in the garden. The fluff from Zayn’s scarf tickles at his lips. He narrows his eyes against the shine of the sun off of the layer of snow dusting the grass of the back garden and tells himself there’s no Harry-shaped hole in his happiness right now. He tells himself to focus on how healthy his father looks- better than he has since his stroke- and how happy his boys are right now- Tar and Trev are both enjoying the visit with their grandparents so much. He can be happy outside of being with Harry.

Well… he can try.

“I’m getting a bit cold, beta. Think I’ll go inside for a bit.”

Zayn nods and picks Tar up, settling the toddler on his hip and letting him wave off his grandad as Yaser walks back into the house with a smile and wave back to the little boy. “You wanna make something with baba?” he asks, smiling when Tar nods. “Let’s make a little snowman.”

“Whas that?” Tar asks, pushing his hood back from his eyes and peering up at Zayn.

“You know what a snowman is,” Zayn says, kneeling on the ground and setting Tar on his feet. He digs his mittens from his pocket and slips them on before grabbing up some of the snow. “Make a snowball like this,” he instructs, showing Tar how he packs the snow between his palms.

“Rike this,” Tar repeats, making a tiny ball between his hands.

“Exactly like that,” Zayn agrees, accepting Tar’s snowball and adding it to his own. There’s not much on the ground but it’s enough that his nearly-two year old will be delighted. They build the snowman piece by piece, rolling the snow in semi-packed spheres and stacking them until some semblance of a snowman has taken form.

“Flosty,” Tar says, giggling when Zayn finds a few pebbles that he uses to make a simple smiley face.

“Yeah, Frosty,” Zayn agrees. “Although he’s missing a hat. Maybe we can go inside and get one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tar says, bouncing in place.

Zayn takes his hand and leads him inside. “Mum, do you have a hat for our snowman?”

Trisha turns from the stove- she’s hardly been anywhere else since Zayn and the boys had shown up on the doorstep- and nods, smiling and opening her arms for Tariq. He takes off at a run and crashes into her knees, hugging tight. “I think we’ve got a couple hats your father doesn’t use anymore. Why don’t you go see and the baby and I will thaw off in here.”

Zayn smiles and takes his leave, kicking off his snowboots near the back door and setting off to find his father. He’s on the phone in the living room and Zayn curls up next to him on the sofa, resting his head on his father’s shoulder and listening to him finish his conversation.

“Doniya says hi,” his father says when he hangs up.

“She ask why I was here?”

“Mummy told her yesterday, I think. She’s worried about you, of course. Big sisters always are.”

“I want to be better than this, dad. You’ve… well, you’ve always been the rock of the family and I want to be that for mine.”

“You are, beta.”

“Harry is,” Zayn protests, shaking his head on his father’s shoulder. “Harry’s the rock.”

“Well, so is mummy if we’re being honest,” Yaser laughs. “I couldn’t have done any of this without her. She’s my rock, you know, even if you think I’m yours.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Nothing has to be figured out today,” Yaser advises, smiling when Zayn pulls back and meets his eye. “There’s always tomorrow or the day after to tackle the hard things. Let’s just enjoy our visit while we can.”

Zayn laughs and nods in agreement. “You’re a smart man, dad.”

 

 

“Is Uncle Harry here yet?” Trev asks the next evening, pushing off his big boy pants and stepping into the tub.

Tar’s already halfway through his bath, playing with one of his toys while Zayn helps his older brother get inside.

“No, baby, it’s just us and your grandparents. We’re here for a visit, remember?”

“Yeah, I rem’mber,” Trev agrees, sitting down and splashing a bit at his sides. Zayn lets him fill up a cup and pour it over his own head, eyes shut tightly like he’s been taught. He repeats it again and then once more as Zayn lifts Tar from the tub and wraps him in a big fluffy towel.

“Baba, no,” Tar protests, shaking his head as Zayn pumps out lotion into the palm of his hand.

“Baba, yes,” Zayn tells him with a smile, smearing the lotion on his arms and across his pudgy tummy before rubbing it in. “You need this,” he promises though Tar is glowering and trying to hide his face with the towel. “Do you want to try a Pull Up tonight, beta?”

Tar thinks about it for a second, letting the towel fall as he wipes at his tummy where he thinks there might be lotion left behind. “Okay,” he says hesitantly. He’s had dry nappies for the past few nights, a surprise to Zayn with the time shift on their vacation, and he’s glad Tar’s willing to try the Pull Ups tonight. He’s got a mental countdown to the last diaper he’ll have to change and he wants to keep his baby on track.

He lets Tar step into the pants, helping him pull them up so they fit snug around his middle. He swipes the towel over his curls again, gently wringing out some excess water, before he pulls a big t-shirt over his head and lets him run out of the room. “Go get your toys for bedtime, okay? We’ll be right there.”

Trev’s playing with his toy boats when Zayn turns back to him, his knees already sore against the bathroom tiles. “I miss… hmm… I miss Uncle Harry,” Trev says when Zayn tips his head back to lather some shampoo into his corkscrew curls.

“Aren’t you having fun with baba and your grandparents, though?” Zayn asks, lifting some water with his cupped palm and letting it mix with the soap.

“Yes, I love gramma,” he says, sighing and tipping his head further back.

Zayn snorts. His son acts like he’s had a rough day, as if playing and cooking with his grandparents is hard work, and he rinses out the shampoo properly before wiping at Trevor’s brow with a wash cloth. “What about your Grandad Yaser? Your abu?”

“Yes! Of course.”

“Of course,” Zayn repeats with another laugh. He can’t get enough of this kid, he thinks to himself.

Trev’s finished quickly, helping to unplug the drain and even putting on his own lotion while Zayn gently dries his curls with a dryer and a soft rag ripped from an old t-shirt. He twists the blonde locks around his fingers when he’s done and pulls Trev into a hug.

“What’s w… baba, what’s wrong?” Trev asks, hugging Zayn back tightly.

“Nothing, baby.”

“Is it Uncle Harry?”

Zayn pulls away, smoothing his curls back from his face. “No, of course not.”

“Where is he?”

“Well, he’s at home.”

“Our home?”

Zayn sighs, standing with Trev still in his hold and leaving the bathroom messy for now as he leads them into the bedroom his parents have made up for the boys. “Tar, c’mere for a second baby,” he says as he takes a seat on Trevor’s bed. He sets him down against the pillows and lifts Tar to snuggle in. He’s got a teddy in his hands and he curls into Trevor’s side easily. Zayn scoots back and crosses his legs underneath his bottom, facing his boys.

“Baba?” Trev asks when Zayn’s quiet a moment too long.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, smiling wide and trying to calm them. “Do you like that Uncle Harry lives with us?”

They both nod eagerly, Tar sneaking his thumb into his mouth.

“What do you like about it?” he asks.

“Bwekkie,” Tar says around the digit.

“Baba makes pretty good brekkie, too,” Zayn points out but Trev shakes his head.

“Not pancakes.”

“I could try.” He gets a shrug and he laughs. “What else do you boys like about it?”

“He’s nice,” Trevor says. “And he makes you laugh.”

Zayn flushes and looks down at his knees, picking at an imaginary thread. “He does. I laugh a lot with him.”

“Is he your best friend?” Trev asks around a yawn.

Zayn purses his mouth at the phrase and he shakes his head. “No, beta. You and your brother are my best friends.”

“You mine, too,” Tar says, turning a bit further into the pillows and closing his eyes.

“Not me,” Trev says and Zayn smiles, knowing where this is going. “My best friend is Uncle Harry.”

“You’re his best friend, too,” Zayn assures him, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Trev’s forehead. “Do you mind sharing with your bhai tonight? I think he’s already sleeping.”

“Nuh-uh,” Tar protests, though Zayn’s willing to call bullshit.

Trevor nods his head. “He can stay. Can I… can I have another kiss, baba?”

Zayn smiles and leans in, pressing kisses in a line down his nose and smacking a loud one to his little pursed mouth, making him giggle and push him away. “Goodnight, sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dweams,” Tar repeats, barely awake as his lashes flutter against his cheeks.

Zayn lingers above their bed for a long moment, looking his fill and trying to catalogue everything about them before they get too big to be his ‘little boys’.

The bathroom is still a mess, though, and he turns off the overhead light as he leaves the room. He grabs a hamper and tugs it with him, turning the corner into the toilet and stopping short when his phone rings. He digs the mobile from his pocket and flips it open to answer.

“Hello?” He doesn’t recognize the number.

“Zayn? It’s Cassie.”

“Oh- hi,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the tub. The porcelain digs into his bum but he ignores it. “What’s going on?”

“I hope it’s okay I’m calling. You told me to call if I want to see the boys and I…”

“Cass…”

“No, I’m sorry, Zayn. Please let me say that. I don’t know why I didn’t just call in the first place.”

“You could have,” Zayn says, though there’s no heat in his words. He’s tried to spend the last few days putting himself in her shoes- scared, full of regret, desperate to see her children. His dad had pointed out that she was probably even worse off that Zayn was thinking, because he knows what life is like with his boys; Cassie would have been meeting them almost for the first time. “I’m in England with my parents right now but I can bring them to see you when we’re back home.”

“I- really?” Even across an ocean, he can hear the desperate hope in her voice.

“They’re not going to like Richard right away,” Zayn says, leaving out that he’s not going to like him probably _ever_. “They’re really shy little boys but they’re sweet as anything.”

“He feels so awful about how he behaved-”

“I get it,” Zayn says. “Harry would have done the same.”

“Are you guys okay? That Michael guy… I hope it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

“Yeah, I kind of… ran away,” Zayn says, laughing. “God, I’m stupid.”

“I’m worse,” Cassie says, her voice already sounding lighter. “We really fucked this all up, didn’t we? Mostly me but… both of us, a little.”

“Yeah. I never should have let you sign those papers. That was stupid.”

“I just want to be good to them. I’m not looking to replace you or Harry, though. I know they have a family. Being around Richard’s daughters is just a constant reminder of the boys I left. I never will leave again, Zayn, I mean it.”

“It’s got to be on my terms to some extent,” Zayn says, feeling courage rise in his chest. “Can we agree that we do it my way for a year? Or, like… six months?”

“Would you ever keep them from me?”

Zayn gives it a thought, constantly reminding himself to look at it through her eyes. “No,” he says eventually. “I will never knowingly keep them from you and I’ll be as transparent as I can about plans and big decisions until we get a formal agreement drafted.”

“Richard bought a unit in your building so we can come there for weekends we have the boys. That way you don’t have to worry about being too far from them.”

“They’re Muslim until they say otherwise.”

“Could they come to church with us for big holidays?”

“As long as I don’t think they’ll get confused or overwhelmed.”

“That’s fair.”

“I’ll be home day after tomorrow. We’ll schedule dinner or something so you and Richard can meet them proper.”

“Zayn, you’re being… amazing, honestly.”

“I couldn’t survive without them in my life- I can only imagine the pain you’ve been in. I don’t want to keep you in that pain.”

“You’re great, thank you,” she says, clearly crying. “I’m sorry, I have to…”

“Something’s burning?” Zayn teases, giving her an excuse to hang up. “The dog got out?”

“Yes, yes to all,” she agrees. “Bye Zayn. Thank you.”

“Thank you for calling.”

He shuts his phone and sets it on the closed toilet lid, looking up to the ceiling. He is under no illusion that one conversation will fix everything but he’s got to start somewhere and Cassie is somehow the easiest part of his life to handle right now. He debates picking up his phone and sending Harry a text but he’s worth more than that.

He’s someone Zayn needs to see and talk to, face-to-face.

 

 

Tired from their trip to see their grandparents, Trev and Tar both sleep through at least half of their eight hour flight back home. The rest of the time, they’re subdued and behaved, sharing Zayn’s work tablet and watching their cartoons while they distractedly snack on oranges and Lunchables he bought from the duty free stores at Heathrow.

Tar starts fussing when the plane begins landing, and Zayn watches with a smile as Trev grabs his little brother’s hand and talks him out of a tantrum. “Good job, beta,” Zayn tells him, nearly shouting over the din of the other passengers hurrying to get off the plane. He waits back until the initial rush has cleared before he gets out of his seat and grabs their bags from the overhead bin. He hands the boys their little backpacks, mostly for show as all of their laundry is shoved into the bag he checked at the beginning of the journey. He’s wishing he had carried it on now, as the thought of being anywhere but in his own bed right now feels like torture. He just wants to walk out of the airport, into a cab, and straight to bed.

“No walk,” Tar pouts as he beckons them out of their seats. He slides down to the floor as if made of Jello, growling like a dog when Trev tries to tug him up.

“Tariq Asad, let’s go,” Zayn says, putting on his ‘don’t mess with baba’ voice and frowning when Tar looks over at him. “I’ll count to three.”

“I can count, let me count!” Trevor says, and Zayn fights a smile as he hears a lady chuckle a few rows back.

“I’ve got it, thank you,” Zayn says, palming the back of Trev’s head and pulling him out of the row. “Tariq, let’s go.”

“Wanna see unc’Arry.” Tar is in rare form.

“Me too, buddy, but we’re going to have to get off the plane to see him.”

“Can I? He hewe?”

Zayn decides to lie, because he’s a realist as well as a very exhausted man. He’ll deal with the crash later, when he’s in a taxi or a Lyft or something with four wheels that stays on the ground long enough to get him home. There’s no way in hell he’s riding the subway right now.

“Yeah, he’s waiting for us to get off the plane. Grab your bag, beta, let’s go.”

Tar pulls himself up and tugs at the straps of his backpack, pulling at them and nodding his head. “Weady.”

“Can you zip up your jacket?” Zayn asks, pulling down his carry on and pulling it over his chest, trying to balance the weight on his back because he knows he’s going to be carrying at least one Malik little boy. Preparation is key.

Tar does so carefully, lining up the two lines of teeth and pulling up his zipper. Zayn pulls him out into the aisle as well, pushing his hand through his baby curls. They walk from the plane single file, both of his boys looking back at him every few seconds to make sure he’s following.

“Have a good night,” the tired stewards at the front of the plane say, genuine smiles on their faces as they wave to the boys.

“Say ‘thank you’,” Zayn reminds, repeating after them. “Have a good night, too.”

“I don’t see him,” Trev says with a frown, looking around the second they’re off the plane.

“We’ve got to get our big bag first,” Zayn says, lifting Tar to his hip and taking Trev’s hand with his free one. “Almost home.”

“I miss grandmada,” Tar says around a yawn. Zayn doesn’t know if he meant his Grandma Trisha or Grandad Yaser but he bounces Tar in his hold and agrees anyway.

It looks like the bags have just been released, and Zayn keeps the boys back to let the initial rush of travelers pass. He’s not exactly a patient man but he’s got two little ones to think of.

“Let me know if you see it,” he tells them. “It’s the one with the purple beads, remember? Grandma Trisha made beads with us.”

“I member,” Tar agrees, pillowing his cheek on Zayn’s shoulder. He’s not quite sleepy, just mellow from being cooped up on a plane and from his mini fit earlier. His baby fist is kneading at Zayn’s shirt collar.

“I see it, I see… it’s right there!” Trev calls out, pointing where their bag has just landed on the baggage carousel.

“Let’s give it one runaround,” Zayn says, grabbing onto the hood of Trev’s coat when he makes to jump forward. “We’ve got time.”

“Uncle Harry’s waiting,” Trev reminds and Zayn nods, gritting his teeth.

When they see their bag come back around, Zayn lets Trev go ahead, following behind closely with Tar humming to himself. Trev gets ahold of the bag and tugs fruitlessly and Zayn laughs as he takes the strap himself and puts it over his free shoulder.

“I need you to stay next to baba,” Zayn tells him. “Put your hand on my pocket and hold on.”

Trev nods his agreement and steps in closer, sliding his thumb through one of Zayn’s belt loops as well. Zayn keeps a gentle hold of his hood again as they make their way through the terminal. He steers them towards the taxi stands, deciding it would be easier than fiddling with his phone and trying to use an app to get the cars on the other side of the wall.

“Uncle Harry!” Trev shouts.

“I know, baby,” Zayn says, tightening his grip when Trev tries to pull away. “I think he might be meeting us back home, actually.”

“Unc’Arry!” Tar squeals in Zayn’s ear. Zayn closes his eyes for a second between one step and the next, trying to ready his exhausted bones for a joint freak out when his boys realise Harry isn’t here, and when he opens them he almost feels his knees give out.

“Harry.”

Eyes wide and cheeks burning scarlet red, Harry’s stood at the doors leading out to the taxi queue, a cardboard sign in his hand. _My Malik Boys_ , it reads in neat letters drawn with thick, black marker.

Zayn should be mad. He should be burning brighter than Harry’s cheeks right now, blazing from the inside out and raging like a forest fire. He should be so unbelievably mad that Harry is surprising him like this in the middle of the busiest airport terminal in the city but all he feels is a freight train of exhaustion and an ambulance of relief hit him square in the chest. “Harry,” he repeats, voice breaking as his breath leaves him. He feels Trev let go of his clothes and hears his sneakers squeaking on the floor as his older boy breaks into a run and flings himself into Harry’s open arms.

“Hi, baby, hi,” Harry says, kissing Trev’s forehead and cheeks. He pulls the boy to his hip so he can tug Zayn in with his free hand. Zayn’s heavy checked bag falls from his shoulder to the ground at their feet and the pressure of Harry’s hand on his waist seems like the only thing keeping him upright as he clutches Harry’s shirt with his hand and breaths him in, deep inhales to reset all of his senses back to normal. Normal, when Harry is _here_ and, more importantly, _his_ and everything is back to right.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Harry says. His words are muffled where they’re whispered into Zayn’s hair. Zayn can feel the press of Harry’s lips and he tilts his head back, greedy and eager for a taste he’s been missing. Harry sighs, his palm cupping Zayn’s cheeks before he runs his fingers lightly along Zayn's temples and browline, dragging them down and mapping out every angle of Zayn's face as if Harry is going to draw it blind from memory. “I'm so, so sorry.”

Zayn sighs at the repetition and breaks their eye contact, dragging his gaze down Harry's neck and focusing on the chains of his necklaces where they disappear under the collar of his shirt. “I don't understand,” he admits, voice quiet. He hears the small sound of Harry's lips parting and the way he breathes in, getting ready to speak. Zayn shakes his head.

“Little ears,” he says, nodding at the squirming boys in their arms. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his tongue flicking out to search for a lingering taste of Harry’s lips.

“Your dad called me about an hour after you took off. I spent all of the past eight hours wondering if you wanted me to come before deciding I had to try.”

Zayn lifts his free hand to gently push back Harry’s curls, tucking them under the line of his beanie before he rubs his hand down the back of Trev’s peacoat. “I panicked,” he admits, letting his hand fall to his side.

“I know.”

“Unc’Arry,” Tar shouts in their ears, squirreling his way half out of Zayn’s arms. He’s awful when he feels he’s being ignored. “Hi!”

“Hi, bubba,” Harry says, pulling Tariq onto his hip with one hand, ignoring Zayn’s _“your back, Haz,”_ and smacking loud kisses to his cheek as well. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“We made beads,” Trev says excitedly, his cheeks red and his eyes wide under his glasses. “Show him, baba.”

“Don’t be bossy,” Zayn chides before listening to his oldest boy and stepping back, nudging at his bag with his toes. “It’s a lizard, I think,” he says of the decoration on their luggage.

“Samalander,” Trev ‘corrects’ him.

“Safaa has a _‘samalander’_ now and brought him over to see us.”

“‘S a _girl_ , baba.”

 _It’s a monster,_ Zayn mouths to Harry, his stomach tight with all the things they can’t discuss in front of the little ears. The relief he feels being in front of Harry doesn’t make up for the pain he’s been in since hearing another man lay claim to someone Zayn selfishly thought was his. He knows he wants to move past this but he knows he deserves an explanation first.

“I don’t have to stay at h- with you,” Harry says, swiftly swerving away from the word ‘home’ though the sound of it is already heavy in Zayn’s ear. It _is_ his home, is the thing… to Zayn, it always has been, even before his heavy books and weird shampoo bottles were there.

“The boys have missed you,” Zayn says, shifting the focus back to his sons because he knows Harry’s weaknesses better than he knows his own. “We don’t want you to go.”

“I don't…” Harry starts, shaking his head so his hair springs free from the beanie again. “I don't want this to hang over our heads.”

Zayn snorts. “Babe… I’m the best at ignoring things.”

Harry’s smile is small but genuine and he closes his eyes for a second, pressing another kiss to Trev’s blonde mess of curls. “Let’s go home,” he says, a bit more confidence in his voice.

“Home!” the boys echo, seemingly oblivious to any tension. They didn’t notice how long the four of them have been standing around, too preoccupied with seeing Harry again.

Harry leads them to his car, keeping both of the boys in his arms as Zayn keeps his fingers hooked through Harry’s beltloop. “I can’t believe you came.”

Harry smiles at him and doesn’t answer. Zayn should have known he always would.

 

 

“We’re home, Zed.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Wasn’t sleepin’,” he slurs, wiping at his mouth. He hears Harry laugh and he sighs, smiling. “I was sleeping a little.”

“I can carry you up,” Harry teases.

“Mmm, nope,” Zayn says, popping the ‘p’ as he unbuckles his seat belt. “Someone needs to carry that heavy bag.”

“What about the boys?” Harry points out.

Zayn laughs, turning to look over his shoulder at the two hyped up boys in the backseat. “I think walking might help tire them out a bit.” He grabs the two tiny backpacks from the floor near his feet before twisting in his seat and making to step out of Harry’s car. He hadn’t realised Harry was still stood so close, though, and he ends up pressing against most of Harry’s front when he stands to his full height.

“Sorry,” Harry says, though he doesn’t move for a long moment. He leans in, letting the tip of his nose trace along the side of Zayn’s own. Harry doesn’t try to kiss him, though Zayn’s eyes close and his chin tilts up in reflex. Harry just lets the tension build for a ten-count before he steps back and leaves Zayn cold everywhere they had just been touching.

Zayn shivers, wishing he’d worn his jacket instead of just a jumper especially now that he misses Harry’s heat, before he takes a step and opens the back door. He leans down, smiling at the boys. “Can you unhook yourself, Trevor?”

Trev nods and reaches down his carseat for the latch. Zayn reaches a hand around Tar’s rear facing seat, unhooking him easily and lifting him out. “Hungee,” Tar says softly, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s neck.

“Me, too,” Trev says as he climbs carefully out of his seat and lets Zayn help him to the pavement. They don’t have terribly close parking to their apartment but they set off down the street, Harry with both of the big bags over his one shoulder so his free hand can keep ahold of Trevor’s hood.

“Well, you’re all in luck then because I bought stuff to make pizzas!” Harry says excitedly, cheering when the boys do.

“It’s so late,” Zayn pouts, though he honestly has no idea what time it is. It’s dark and he’s tired, is all he knows.

“They only take a little bit, promise,” Harry assures. “And I’ll make yours while you ‘unpack’,” he adds, air quotes implied. He mouths ‘nap’ and Zayn smiles.

“You know me very well, Mr. Styles.”

They share another grin before Zayn turns around, fishing his keys from his pocket once they reach his co-op.

 

 

Instead of the nap his exhausted mind and body desperately crave, Zayn stays awake and in the kitchen with his boys. They make the pizzas together, all four of them, and Zayn lets Trev put extra cheese on his though Harry frowns and says it’s going to ruin the balance of the meal. Zayn rolls his eyes and sprinkles some extra on his own in defiance.

The boys play with the cats while the pizzas cook, even Jasper acting social from missing them. Zayn manages to avoid being alone with Harry, holing up in the bedroom to toss all of their laundry in a hamper and unpack everything else into a semi-organized pile on the nightstand that he’ll sort through later… or tomorrow… well, they might be there for a few days but at least they’re not getting mildewy in his luggage.

The pizza is hot and delicious after half a day’s worth of airport and airplane food, though Zayn already misses his mother’s cooking. The boys are nodding off with their last bites and Harry offers to put them to bed. Zayn sits at the table for a moment after they leave, munching on a slightly burnt crust edge while Jasper purrs on his lap.

“Gotta do the dishes, buddy,” he says in apology, nudging the grey cat down and clearing the table. They’re easy to clean and Zayn sets them on the drying rack, wiping down the counter and table before deciding that everything else can wait until the morning. Making sure the cats have enough water and kibble to tide them over, he makes his way to his room again.

Harry’s reading to the boys, his voice low and soothing, and Zayn doesn’t let himself pause to listen like he normally would. He needs to think for a moment without Harry around. The spell Harry always has on him is lesser when he’s alone and the last week’s worth of anger, sadness and confusion are already flooding back into the forefront of his mind.

His bed is soft and familiar when he crawls into it, taking a seat by the pillows and bringing his knees up to his chest before draping the duvet over himself. He half wants to burrow underneath but he reminds himself he’s a grownup and a father and he’s much too dignified to do that.

A flash of the way Michael’s fingers had pressed into Harry’s forearm, squeezing gently and possessively, makes Zayn’s stomach swoop like he’s going to lose all of his pizza. He’s regretting the extra cheese. Michael had been so beautiful and so unbothered by the room full of people, wrapping Harry up in a hug and claiming him. As if he thought he had a right to do so.

“The boys are sleeping. Trev wanted me to read them _Goodnight Moon_ twice and Tar wanted Dr. Seuss; sorry it took so long.”

Zayn registers that Harry’s talking but the words seem as if they’re coming over from a very long distance.

“Baby?”

Zayn tears his eyes from the nicks and dents of his dresser, coming out of a fog as he looks to where Harry stands in the doorway. “Don’t…” he shakes the fog away further, “don’t call me that.”

Harry’s already nervous expression tightens, his cheeks losing colour in seconds. “Zayn, c’mon.”

“I don’t… I’m far, far too exhausted to do this tonight. Just… if I let you do that, we’ll never talk about it and if you leave, we’ll never talk about it and we _have_ to talk about it or we’ll never be back to us and we-”

“Zayn… you can’t shut me out like this.”

“And you can’t tell me you’re in love with me while you’re dating someone else,” Zayn snaps back.

Harry sighs, pushing his hair back from his face and coming into the room. “I have a lot to say about… all of that but I want you to sleep, first.”

As quickly as it had flooded his chest, his anger recedes. He trusts Harry enough to know he deserves a chance to explain. “You said… the lads?”

“Are sleeping.”

“Thank you.”

Harry crawls up the bed until he’s directly in front of him, cupping Zayn’s cheeks in his palms.

“Zayn,” Harry cajoles. “Look at me.”

Someday, Zayn is going to resist Harry. Apparently, though, that’s not going to be today. He tilts up his head, looking into the soft green of Harry’s eyes.

“I love you and I always, always have since the day you moved in with me to that tiny little apartment in the Bronx. You brought your son into my home and you changed my life, all at once.”

Zayn closes his eyes, pressing his cheek harder against Harry’s palm. “I love you, too,” he says in a soft tone. “But you really hurt me.”

Harry’s lips press to his forehead and Zayn tilts his head back to bring their mouths together. “I’m so sorry, Zed,” Harry says against his lips. “Do you want to talk about this now?”

Zayn shakes his head. “You were right… I’m so tired. Let’s sleep?”

They kiss again and then once more, Zayn taking solace in the fact that this facet of their relationship is already familiar and comforting to him.

Every time their friendship pushed a boundary, every time they added a layer or new dynamic to it, Zayn would feel knots of anxiety for days that he’d ruined everything. Every single time, though, he’d settle into the newness of it all and trust that his foundation with Harry was solid enough to withstand anything.

Even Michael. Even a lie.

Harry shifts off the bed and Zayn slides down further, patting at the space next to him so Harry will join. It’s weird for a second when Harry hesitates, but Zayn tells himself to be strong and have confidence. He ignores the weirdness and slips out of his trousers without getting out of the warm bed. He turns to where Harry’s gingerly getting into bed- staying to his side and trying to make himself as little as possible. It’s ridiculous and heartbreaking and Zayn sighs as he tosses his jeans away. They land somewhere near the overflowing hamper and he rolls to his side, tugging at Harry’s t-shirt. “C’mere,” he says. “C’mere by me.”

Harry turns to face him, his eyes still wet at the corners. Zayn pushes the tears back, drawing damp lines back to Harry’s hairline. They don’t say anything, just blink sleepily at each other until Zayn lets his eyes trail to Harry’s mouth, falling asleep as he maps out a chapped corner of his lips.

 

 

He’s the first to wake in the morning, frowning as he double-checks the light on the baby monitor to make sure it’s working. He wonders if babies can experience jet lag, too, because neither of his boys are known for sleeping through the night like this. He then sees the alarm clock on the nightstand, the numbers blinking _four fifty-three_ and he groans.

Looks like the jet lag hit him instead.

“Zayn?” Harry mutters next to him, shifting so he’s sitting up. “Whas wrong?”

“Nothing, babe,” Zayn says, reaching out and tapping at Harry’s shoulder. “Just can’t sleep.”

“You wanna talk now?”

Harry’s voice is rough and he clears his throat as he pushes his hair back from his face.

“Go back to sleep.”

“No, no, I’m up, I’m up.”

Zayn laughs, pushing himself up with his hands and tucking into Harry’s side. His skin is still warm from sleep and it feels great against Zayn’s always-cold hands. “You’re not, you’re still sleeping,” Zayn teases, trying to get him to lie back.

“I wanted to follow you so much,” Harry says, ignoring him. He scoots back and nudges at his pillows to fluff them up where they hit his lower back, sighing when he must get it right. Zayn can practically see the tension leaving his shoulders.

“I kind of kept expecting to see you every time I turned around.”

“I must have booked and un-booked a dozen tickets. Yaser called me a few times, though, and he convinced me to give you space. ‘To make him miss you,’ he said.”

“My dad doesn’t sound anything like that,” Zayn laughs, turning to face Harry head-on.

“My accent could use some work,” Harry allows. “But he was right. I needed to give you that time. I know I can be… a lot to deal with. I know that me following you would have put… pressure on you.”

“Everyone in my life loves you, H. You’re everything to my boys, you’re comforting to my parents because they know you’ll take care of us. My friends think the world of you… I’ve got pressure, regardless.”

Harry frowns, though Zayn had thought he was being reassuring.

“I want you to be with me because you want it, not because you think your family wants it.”

Zayn sighs. That was the worst thing he could have said to Harry, who feels everything so deeply. He’s like a giant, uncovered nerve. Zayn scoots closer so his knee is touching Harry’s thigh. “I didn’t mean to say it that way,” he says gently. “But, I do want to hear about Michael. Before… before anything else.”

With a frown and a nod, Harry takes a deep breath. “I met him about two months ago?” Harry says, words tilting up at the end like he’s asking a question. “Right before all of this started with the custody.”

Okay. That’s not very long ago. Zayn doesn’t know what to do with this information. “What’s his last name?” he asks. He’s not going to look him up or stalk him forever, or anything.

He already tried but didn’t find him among Harry’s thousands of Facebook friends.

Harry shakes his head. “I’m not sure. We only went on a few dates in November, and he came to one of the Sunday meetups with the guys.” Harry must _hear_ the way Zayn’s heart physically drops in his chest because he quickly adds, “No, no, a bunch of people from class came, we got together to study and I invited them along. Michael was a friend of one of them and he met us up there.”

 _Thank god_ , because the thought of Harry viewing this as a serious enough relationship to introduce Michael to people makes everything in Zayn feel repulsed. He doesn’t know what he would have done if Harry had ever introduced _them_ like that. Probably hated him on sight and try to cyber stalk him.

Oh wait, that _is_ what he did.

“Zayn, I haven’t spoken to him in ages. We haven’t gone on anything that could be considered a date since before Thanksgiving. The first custody hearing, when Trev was sick and you boys came back to my flat and you pulled me into the tub…”

“I did not!” Zayn argues, snapping out of his thoughts to shove at Harry’s thigh. “You fell!”

“I was tugged!”

“That’s… no.”

“Zayn, I was so fucking close to crossing a line that day. Having you under me in the bath like that… I had just been out with Michael the night before, though, and I couldn’t do that to you.”

Zayn closes his eyes. _You did that anyway_ , he thinks to himself. “Why, um,” he coughs. “Why did he say you were dating, then? As in… present tense?”

“I don’t… I don’t want to admit this part because it sounds… really bad on me.”

“I can handle it.”

Harry nods, searching for Zayn’s hand with his own. Zayn lets him link their fingers and watches Harry bite at his lip. “I… ghosted.”

Zayn waits. When it doesn’t look like Harry is going to add anything else, he steps in. “Okay. And?”

“And, _what_?”

“What’s the bad part of this?”

“Zayn, I ignored the guy’s texts for weeks, I dodged his mate in class, and I didn’t tell you about him!” he says, ticking his ‘crimes’ off on his fingers. Zayn can’t even believe it for a moment. When it all catches up to him, he sighs and hangs his head back.

Speaking to the ceiling, he says, “Harry Edward Styles, are you seriously sitting there telling me I’ve spent the last week feeling sick to death because I thought you were cheating on your boyfriend with me only to find out that you met him a few times, you don’t even know his last name, and _he was never even your boyfriend_?”

“Erm, yeah?”

Harry looks green when Zayn looks down again and Zayn almost feels like laughing. “Babe… babe, why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I’m telling you now!”

Zayn rolls his eyes, about a thousand tons of imaginary weight disappearing from his shoulders. He smiles and lifts onto his knees. “I know, thank you.”

“Why are you looking at me like I’m crazy?”

Uh-oh, a Styles tantrum sounds imminent. Zayn knee-walks closer and raises his hands to cup Harry’s face. “You’re not crazy,” he promises. “You’re a beautiful, beautiful soul. You think ghosting someone who says you’re ‘dating’ after a month of no contact is a bad thing. You’re remarkable.”

“I told him, after you left, if that helps. He recused himself from the mediation meeting and Cassie said she wanted to talk to you first before rescheduling another one. I told Michael, then, that I was sorry for the way I handled it but that I was seeing you. I think he thinks that I was cheating on you when I went out with him.”

Zayn stops Harry’s rambling with a kiss. “I don’t care about Michael anymore,” he says honestly.  “And I’m sorry I ran.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to.”

Zayn shifts so he’s straddling Harry’s waist, his hands falling to Harry’s shoulders.

“This might be a stupid question but… were you sleeping with him?”

Harry frowns.

“Gross,” Zayn says, the fourteen year old in him rearing its ugly head. “Was I better?”

Harry laughs and pulls him in closer. “You’re the best, baby.”

Zayn lets Harry kiss him, smiling against his mouth. “I don’t ever want to be away from you again,” Zayn says in a whisper, not pulling away any further than he absolutely has to.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, I mean… There’s three Malik boys.”

“I’m aware,” Harry says, his hands still on Zayn’s waist, squeezing through his shirt and coaxing the fire in Zayn’s chest higher and higher.

Zayn grinds his hips forward. “I think there should be a fourth.”

Harry’s eyes get wide at that, his smile shifting. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Zays says, rolling forward again. He can feel Harry thick through his sleep trousers and he’s struck with longing, having missed this kind of intimacy so much. “Wanna be a Malik boy?” he asks, biting at his lip when Harry thrusts up.

“Malik Man,” Harry corrects around a laugh. “Feels weird being called a ‘boy’ when you’re… doing that.”

“What about when I do… this?” he asks, leaning in and licking at Harry’s ear as one of his hands slip below the elastic waistband of his trousers and into his pants.

Harry groans and that’s answer enough for Zayn.

 

 

“Are you still, um, baba?”

“Yeah, baby?” Zayn asks distractedly, kicking Harry’s feet away from his where he’s trying to play footsie under the dining room table.

“Are you mad at Uncle Harry?”

Zayn smiles and shakes his head, handing the salad bowl off to Harry so he can brush his fingers through Trev’s tight curls. It’s been a few days since Zayn came back home and he and Harry are in… a really solid place. Cassie is coming by for dinner in a few days and Zayn doesn’t even remember what mad feels like.

That’s a lie but the hyperbole is what’s important.

“No, baby. I’m not mad at Uncle Harry.”

“Are you guys going to get murfied?”

“Are we going to what?” Zayn asks, glancing at Harry to see if he’s understood what Trev attempted to say. He just shrugs.

“Where you um, have like a wedding?”

“’Married’,” Zayn corrects on reflex before the word catches up to him. “Who told you that?”

“Granmada,” Tar supplies, eating his fist in anticipation of dinner.

Again, Zayn doesn’t know if he’s saying Grandma, Grandad or is considering them as one, merged unit. Either way, Zayn’s going to have to talk with his meddling parents about what they can and cannot say in front of his easily impressionable sons. They’re lovely, lovely people and Zayn would do anything for them but they need to not be meddlers. It’s their only flaw.

“Malee,” Tar says, smacking his hand down on the tabletop.

“It's almost as if I roped them into helping me propose,” Harry says in what he probably thinks is a conspiratorial whisper. Zayn rolls his eyes and ignores him.

“What’s, um, pro-pose?” Trev asks.

“It’s when you ask someone to marry you,” Harry answers as Zayn grabs the serving plate of chicken so he can fill his own dish and start cutting pieces up for Tar to eat.

“Are you going to ask baba?”

“Baba might ask Uncle Harry,” Zayn points out, setting down the heavy dish.

“Akk me!” Tar shouts, excited because he’s trying to lean down and reach the cat’s tail while also being part of the conversation. Multitasking is thrilling for the littlest one.

“You can’t marry Uncle Harry,” Trev argues with his little brother, pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

“Yea, can!”

“No, you can’t. Baba will!”

“Me too!”

“Baba, tell him no!”

“He’s okay, baby,” Harry chimes in.

“But, if he marries you Uncle Harry then what, will you, will baba marry you?”

“No one’s getting married,” Zayn laughs.

“We could,” Harry says.

“Haz-“ Zayn laughs, cutting the last chunk of chicken into small enough pieces for Tar. “Lemme see your plate, baby,” he says as he grabs Tar’s dish from in front of him.

“You said you wanted me to be a Malik.”

“And I do,” he confirms as he slides the cutup pieces over. He still isn’t looking at Harry, doesn’t want him to see the obvious yearning in Zayn’s eyes. They’re good, where they’re at. “I want you to be a Malik. But we can talk about this after dinner.”

“Now, now!” Tar chants and Zayn spoons some peas over to his plate as well before returning it.

“This looks amazing,” Zayn says, pouring some of the mushroom sauce over his plate. “God, I don’t know how you do it.” The smell from his plate is making his mouth water and he’s already impatient for Harry to finish readying Trev’s plate; he’s not one to begin eating before everyone is ready but god, Harry needs to hurry up.

He pinches some of Tar’s peas, hoping it’ll get him to eat them, and he startles when Harry’s suddenly on his other side, pulling out his chair.

“Harry, what?”

“Will you make me a Malik boy?” Harry asks, his hand holding a ring box right under Zayn’s nose. “You wouldn’t look over at me or this would have been much more romantic.”

“Harry- Harry what are you doing?” It’s too soon, so much too soon and Zayn knows at least part of this is motivated by Harry wanting to resolve all of their issues at once. It doesn’t make it any less real, though, and it also doesn’t make Zayn want it any less.

“He’s propose to you baba!” Trev says, bouncing in his seat. “We helped!”

“ _It’s almost as if I roped them in to helping me_ ,” Harry repeats, sliding down to one knee. “I’ve had this box in my hand since I said that last time but you were…”

“I was cutting up the baby’s food!” Zayn protests, though he’s laughing. Of course their proposal story wasn’t going to be ‘normal’. Nothing about them ever has been. “Yes, though. Of course I’m saying yes!”

“He no akk yet, baba!” Tar chides. “Akk him, akk him!”

“I did!” Harry protests, smiling over at Tariq.

“You have to say, um, what the… you will marry me!” Trev adds, climbing down from his chair and coming over to Harry. Sawyer’s rubbing along their legs, leaving trails of orange fur behind. Trev nudges the cat away so he can climb up on Harry’s knee.

“I want this chaos in my life forever” Harry laughs, opening the box. The ring inside is beautiful, a thin gold band with red stones set in. Zayn recognizes it right away as the ring Anne wore around her neck from her father.

“Harry-” Zayn says, the moment catching up to him.

“He didn’t ask, baba!”

“Lemme down!” Tar shouts, fed up with being ignored.

“Better ask me before we have a tantrum,” Zayn says, pretending he isn’t wet around the eyes. He leans over Harry to pull Tar from his high chair, setting him on his lap so he can see the ring, too. He holds Tar a little tighter than usual, stopping himself from just grabbing the ring out of the box. He’s greedy for it already.

Harry’s smile only grows wider, the dimples probably painful in his cheek. “Will you marry me? Make me a Malik?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes,” Zayn and his boys answer in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue next! Thank you to every person who has read this! Whether you left feedback or sent me a message or put good thoughts into the universe, I truly, truly appreciate it!


	7. epilogue: a highway to the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is finally at its end and I'm so, so happy that I've reached this point! Sometimes I feared I would never, ever finish this story. It started a long time ago for a gift exchange. I wanted so much from it that I couldn't actually write any of it and I just... shut it down, shut the whole concept down. 
> 
> This is a teeny tiny little epilogue set about eight months after chapter six.

“Tariq left his bunny.”

Zayn looks up from his blueprint laid out across the table, his glasses threatening to slip off the tip of his nose. Distractedly, he pushes them back. “He, what?” he asks, eyes trailing down to the stuffed animal held in Harry’s loose grip. “Aww, babe. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

The poor bunny has seen better days, if Zayn’s being honest. He’s missing a foot and one of his original eyes- Harry sewed a blue button in its place six months ago and it lends a horror quality to the toy. Tar loves him, though, and he’s never really been far from it since Harry had gifted it to him on his first birthday.

“Maybe we should call-“

“No.”

“But he might-“

“No.”

“What if he doesn’t sleep?”

Zayn sighs, rolling up his prints and securing them. He’s not going to get much work done tonight.

“I’m not crazy.” Harry’s got his defenses up high.

“I know you’re not, babe,” Zayn smiles, standing from the table and crossing the small kitchen space. He tries to take the bunny from Harry’s hands. “It’s already nearly midnight, though. The boys have been asleep for a few hours.”

“Maybe! Maybe not, though. Maybe Tar’s so upset about his bunny that he can’t sleep and then that means Trevor isn’t sleeping and-“

“And Cassie will handle it. She’s good, babe. She’s a good mum and she can call if she absolutely needs us.” Harry nods, letting the toy go finally. Zayn tosses it to the table and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. “Which she won’t,” he adds. “She’s a _good. mum._ ”

Harry pouts, though they both know that Zayn is right. “I miss them,” he admits. His hands rest at Zayn’s waist, squeezing gently through his jumper.

“Me, too. I don’t know how we’re going to get used to this.” Over the last eight months, the boys have been spending more and more time with Cassie and her family. Tonight isn’t the first overnight visit they’ve had with her but it is the first time they’re spending an entire weekend at her home in Jersey and Zayn hates every mile that’s between him and his boys right now. “I lied,” he says, a thought occurring to him. At Harry’s questioning gaze, he continues. “I know how we’re going to get through it…”

“I’d love to be let in on the secret,” Harry says. His voice is solid with dry sarcasm but Zayn can see the playful light in his eye so he continues.

“Think about the way their faces look every time they’ve been told they’re going to see their mommy. Every little smile and every little excited jump they’ve made when we help them pack their bags.”

Harry grins, small but visible and Zayn pushes on.

“Then think about how fast they run into our arms when they see us again. Think about how Trev follows you around like a duckling for the rest of the day, think about how Tar doesn’t let me put him down for an hour, at least. It sucks… _god_ , does it suck when they leave but it’s worth it knowing that they’re so happy with their mom but still so very happy to come back home to us. To their daddies.”

Harry’s smile is large enough it might _hurt_. “Dadd _ies_?”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, twisting his engagement band around his finger behind Harry’s neck. “I think we should talk about making that transition.” Harry’s hands are suddenly on the backs of Zayn’s thighs, gripping them tight and hauling him up off the ground. With a surprised shout, Zayn laughs and wraps his legs around Harry’s waist as best he can. “You’re going to throw your back out one of these days,” he warns, though he doesn’t let himself fall back to the floor.

“I’m fine,” Harry argues, kissing sweetly at Zayn’s chin. “I’m perfect; I’m going to marry the most beautiful man in the entire world and I’m going to be the best stepdaddy to the sweetest, most lovely boys that have ever been on this planet.”

“And we’re going to have a baby of our own.”

Harry’s fingers tighten on Zayn’s thighs through the fabric of his joggers. “Wha-“

“I think we need a little girl with your brown curls or a little boy with your green eyes.”

“Zayn,” Harry groans, pressing a kiss to his bottom lip. “I want that more than almost anything.”

“ _Almost_ anything?”

“Well, I’m thinking of something else right now,” Harry says, one of his hands carefully sliding up and over Zayn’s arse, pulling down the elastic of his joggers and feeling out the lace of his pants. “I need _this_.”

Zayn laughs, hitching himself up higher so he can feel out the swell of Harry’s cock- half hard already in his gray silky sleep trousers. Harry moves slowly, his back smacking against the wall and making him groan as his cock nudges up just under Zayn’s balls. “God, be careful,” Zayn moans, getting one of his hands free so he can carefully reach down and massage at Harry’s lower back. “I need you healthy, babe.”

“I’ll show you ‘healthy’.”

“Healthy not… _fuck_ … horny, Haz.”

“Shush it,” Harry orders, softening his growl by trailing a line of kisses along Zayn’s jaw as he tucks the tip of a dry finger up against the edge of Zayn’s hole. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Zayn answers, trying to rock down further on the single digit. He feels scandalous getting off in the kitchen like this, the privacy of having the boys out of the house the only good thing to come from it. Still… “there’s _Wet_ and a soft bed in the other room.”

Harry laughs, slipping his hands away and letting Zayn’s legs fall. “Lead the way.”

 

 

The next day, when even a marathon of morning sex and the best lunch Zayn could cook up still hasn’t made the weary lines around Harry’s eyes disappear, Zayn decides to bring out his trump card. “Hey, can you help me with this?” he calls out from the kitchen table when he sees Harry pass the doorway for the third time in ten minutes.

“You need me?” Harry asks, sticking his head around the frame. The eagerness in his eyes belies how bored he had been.

“Yeah, I want you to look over this with me.”

Gamely, Harry comes into the room and takes a seat next to Zayn. He lets his hand trail along Zayn’s bare shoulders, goosebumps popping up along his skin in the wake of Harry’s warm touch. “What is it?” he asks, looking over the blueprint with curiosity.

“It’s for a house.”

“I thought your team did more industrial things.”

“Mhm,” Zayn agrees, biting at the corner of his lip.

“It looks… nice,” Harry shrugs.

“Do you not like it?” Zayn asks, erasing a smudge at the top corner of the map. “The covered porch is a nice touch; don’t find many of those in New York.”

“Where is it going to be?”

“Kingsbridge. We’re renovating an apartment building there. It’s a little longer of a commute for you to school, but it’s near 238th Street and a direct ride to Columbia.”

“My commute?”

Zayn avoids his eyes, resizing the master closet. “Yeah, I mean. This flat is pretty small for the four of us and we could give the boys their own rooms in a new place.”

“Zayn.”

“Or, they can continue sharing and we can turn the third bedroom into an office for you. Or, even, we can block off part of the living room,” he says quickly, pulling a translucent paper over the print so he can show Harry his alternate ideas. “Look, we can make the sitting room smaller and each bedroom can be sized down. Four bedrooms will be enough for us for a long, long time.”

“ _Zayn_.”

“And, look,” Zayn continues, speaking faster than the speed of sound, nearly. “We can have a whole wall of bookshelves for all our books- your law school things, your encyclopedias, my leather-bound collections. I want _Goodnight Moon_ sitting next to _Law and the Wealth of Nations_ all sandwiched between some horribly hideous bookends you’ve probably got stowed away at your place with Nick and Lou. I want you out of there, completely. I want all of your things here. Home.”

“You’re designing us a _house_?” Harry asks when Zayn finally trails off, breathless. Zayn nods. “How… When did… _How_?”

“It was going to be a wedding present, but I felt like you needed this today.”

“Wedding? You were going to keep this from me for another month?”

 _Keep this from me_. Zayn snorts. “It’s not a lie or anything awful, Haz, it’s a surprise,” he says, leaning in to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. “ _Was_ a surprise. Do you like it?”

“I can’t believe you’ve been working on this every night for nearly a month now and I had no idea. Of _course_ I like it. Babe. You’re building us a house.”

“Not exactly,” Zayn argues, though Harry is quickly pulling him up from his seat as he stands. “Babe, it’s from your parents and mine. They’re buying it, my work is covering most of the expenses besides any customizations. I did very little.”

“You did _everything_ ,” Harry corrects him, leaning in for a kiss. “I can’t believe you walked into my coffee shop one day and changed everything.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You put up a flyer for a flatmate,” he reminds. “You started this.”

Harry grins and pulls back, just enough to see Zayn’s face completely. “ _You_ did,” he argues back. “You made your life choices that led to you needing somewhere to go in the first place.”

“You’re dumb and I’m so in love with you. I’d marry you tomorrow if I wasn’t looking forward to the ceremony we planned.”

“I wanna see you in your wedding day lacies,” Harry says, raising his brows. “I don’t think they should be white though, after this morning.”

“I can give you a preview tonight. I was thinking I might get a nice thong.”

Harry’s cheeks get red as he laughs to pretend the thought isn’t affecting him. He takes a deep breath before pulling Zayn in closer. “While the thought of you in a _fucking_ _thong_ ,” he bites out, “is almost enough to distract me… the thought of you and I in Kingsbridge is even bigger and more fun to think of.”

Zayn narrows his eyes, his back almost sore from how he’s leaning away. “You’d rather think of a new flat than me in lacy pants?”

“Okay, it’s a tie,” Harry concedes. “But only because I may have some lacy things as a surprise of my own.”

Zayn’s interest is piqued. “Don’t lie to me, Styles.”

“I would never,” Harry promises. “C’mon, wrap up our house and meet me in the bedroom. I’ll show you a little preview.”

Zayn has never moved so quickly in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS READ THIS! I have had my head in this 'verse for well over a year and will probably visit it again in lots of keysmash-filled texts to my friends. If you'd ever like to see those nearly unreadable ramblings or if you have any questions about the 'verse at all, please come talk to me! Especially if I've left something open or unexplained haha

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! [Come say hi](http://iamleighbot.tumblr.com/)!


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